Finding the Way Home
by Malebron
Summary: Sirius Black died in the battle at the Department of Mysteries. Twelve years later, after an ancient Halloween ritual is performed, a huge dog is seen out on the hill and a ragged stranger appears in an English village.
1. Layhill Cottage

_Sirius Black died in the battle at the Department of Mysteries, but twelve years later a huge dog is seen on the side of the hill and a ragged and emaciated stranger appears in an English village. _

_This is a story about a second chance; about a journey from shadow into light, and about love._

.

* * *

**Chapter One; Layhill Cottage**

* * *

On the outskirts of the Staffordshire village of Layhill, the mound which gave the village its name rose like a pregnant belly from the the surrounding patchwork of ancient fields. Local rumour had it that a prehistoric burial was hidden inside, and whether or not that was true, it certainly had more than its share of legends and customs.

Tucked neatly in at the base, between the hill and the lane, was Layhill Cottage. Built of warm, uneven handmade bricks, its steeply pitched slate roof had once been made of thatch, but the walls were original, and centuries old. Inside, occupied with the monotonous task of pricking sloes to make sloe gin, Julia smiled a little sadly at the school photograph of her daughter that sat on the deep sill of the kitchen window. She rubbed a hole in the condensation that had collected on the leaded glass panes and peered through to the lane outside. Autumn was late this year and the trees had hardly begun to colour. The days which began with a gentle mist ripened into muggy warmth, but the evenings were getting cooler and the dusk earlier. Soon the clocks would go back.

Albie pricked up his ears and gave a soft woof.

"Who is it, Sweetie?"

Her question was answered by a woman's voice calling from the back door. "It's only me! Are you home?"

"Come on in, Heather! My hands are full at the moment. If you want a drink, you'll have to look after yourself, I'm afraid."

"I'm not stopping. I've got a couple of messages to pass on." A short, slightly plump woman came into the kitchen. Albie gave her a wet and enthusiastic greeting, and she tugged his ears affectionately. "You're making sloe gin! Good girl! Save me some, won't you!"

"Are you at work?" asked Julia, noticing the blue district nurse's uniform.

"Yes, I'm between visits," said Heather. "That's one of my messages. I've just been to old Isaac Prewett's to look at his ankle."

Julia wiped her sticky fingers on a cloth. "How's he doing? I haven't seen him for a couple of days."

"He's doing well," said Heather. "He's just frustrated at not being able to get out. He wants to know if you've finished with a book he lent you. Something to do with Lay Hill? And he dropped an enormous hint about some shortbread."

Julia laughed. "That's typical of the old devil. I have finished with his book, I'll take it over this afternoon. Was there something else?"

"Oh yes. Joe wants to put the ewes in the middle field next week, if that's all right?"

"Of course. He'll need to check the fences though, you know what they're like for escaping." Julia nodded towards the kettle. "Are you sure you don't want a drink?"

"Absolutely. I've got to get off. I'll see you later. Try lemon juice for that.

"For what?"

"The stains," said Heather. "I know what sloes are like for staining."

"Oh," said Julia, looking at her brown fingertips. "Thanks. Does it work?"

"No idea," said Heather. "Before I forget, I wanted to give you this." She rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper.

Julia looked at it. It had a website address written on it. "What's this?"

"Oh," said Heather, casually, "it's just a dating site I've heard good things about. For mature people. Thought you might like to take a look at it." She tickled the great black dog under his chin. "Bye, Albie."

"For goodness' sake, Heather!"

"Must dash!" The door bumped shut behind Heather's retreating form.

Julia tutted, screwed the paper up in disgust and threw it away.

.

When the sloes had been covered with sugar and gin and tightly sealed in her favourite jar, she wrapped a few pieces of shortbread in a cloth and found the dog-eared old book she had borrowed under her bed. She put her coat and boots on, and picked up Albie's lead. He slapped his tail on the floor in anticipation.

They went out through a gap in the garden fence, and skirted round the small open-sided hay barn that sat in the little meadow at the side of her cottage. She noticed with guilt how dilapidated it was; whole sections of the tin roof were hanging loose. There was nothing much inside, just half a dozen damp and mouldy bales, no use for anything now. It would be a project for next year, she promised herself. The ground had not yet begun to accumulate the water that sucked boots ankle-deep into the mud, and made walking across the fields difficult in winter. The brambles still held ripe fruit and the leaves of the hazel bushes in the hedges had barely begun to yellow. They were heavy with nuts, almost ready to harvest.

.

Isaac's cottage, on the other side of the hill was very similar to her own. Once, they must have been almost identical and had been tied cottages for the same estate. Both had the same oddly ornate brickwork which twisted the over-large chimneys into an ornate spiral. They seemed slightly eccentric for such simple dwellings. The chimney on her own was surmounted by a distinctive weather vane in the form of a running dog. At least, she had always assumed it was a weather vane, although it had never budged so much as an inch, no matter what the direction or severity of the wind.

One year she had asked her chimney sweep about it, and he had offered to take a look at it for her. She had stood at the base of the wall, footing the ladder a little anxiously. Old George must have been seventy if he was a day, and she was acutely aware that he probably shouldn't be climbing around on her roof. After poking about for some time, he had climbed down and rubbed his sooty hands with an old rag. "Well then," he said, "for all it looks loik a weather vane it's now such thing."

"Really?" said Julia. "What is it then?"

"Well I s'pose it's just some sort of ornymint loik." He looked up at the chimney. "I dunna see as it's much use for owt."

"Do you think I should have it taken down?" Julia asked anxiously.

George had been horrified. "Tek it den! Never! That there's bin there 'undred's a years, there'll be no good come aht a tekkin' it den. Stick wi' tradition," he said, winking at her.

So she had, and was glad of it, for it pleased her very much. And sometimes it reminded her of Albie when he chased fruitlessly after spring hares in the lower meadow.

.

The gate into Isaac's garden gave its customary squeak as Julia pushed it open and shooed Albie through. A vigorous crop of distinctive yellow-green mistletoe sprouting on the old apple tree at the side of the cottage caught her attention. She must remember to ask for a few sprigs at Christmas.

At the back door she gave a quick knock and went straight in, calling, "Hello Isaac, it's only Julia!" Albie did not wait for her, but promptly disappeared into the house. She unlaced her muddy boots and left them in the porch.

A querulous voice called from inside, "Have you brought some of your shortbread? If not, you might as well turn round and go back. If you have, put the kettle on as you're passing. And you brought that ruddy great dog with you again, I see!"

Julia grinned. "You grumpy sod," she called back. "You should think yourself lucky I'm visiting you at all. And if you stopped giving the ruddy great dog biscuits under the table when you think I'm not looking, he might not be so keen to come."

She boiled the kettle, made two cups of tea and navigated the cluttered passageway to the sitting room. Isaac was sitting in an armchair by the fire, with one plastered foot propped up on a stool. She put the tea and shortbread on a table within reach and bent down to give the elderly man a kiss on top of his bald head.

"I've brought the book back." She handed to him. "It was completely fascinating. However did you get hold of it?"

"Can't recall," he said vaguely. "Had it for years. Thought you might be interested though. 'Specially as I understand you're making the Widow's Plea this year?"

"Now, how can you know that?" said Julia, surprised. "I was only asked yesterday. I don't know why they chose me, I'm not really a widow, you know."

"Near enough, I think," said Isaac. "And they chose you because I said they should. You've earned it after all the work you've put in these last few years."

"I should have known you had something to do with it!" Julia tried to look stern. "I enjoy helping out, you know I do. It is hard work, but worth it to keep the tradition alive. Especially as it's so closely connected with my cottage and land. I'm honoured to be asked, of course, but utterly terrified!" She held her hand out. "Can I just see the book again for a moment?"

Isaac handed it back to her. She opened it and turned a few yellowed pages to find the right place. "_'The Widows Plea'_", she read out, "_'has been performed by a widowed or bereaved woman of the village of Layhill as the culmination of the Souling ceremony, held shortly after midnight on All Saints' Day since at least 1353. __It is a short poem traditionally declaimed in a semi-musical manner accompanied by a pipe or whistle. Its purpose is to recall the lost loved one from beyond the curtain between the worlds of the living and the dead, on the day when the barrier is said to be at its weakest.'" _She lowered the book. "Now that is quite creepy, isn't it?"

"Not at all," said Isaac. "Merely a recognition that there is much mystery still in the world. And in any case, I never heard of it actually working. You'll do fine. More than fine, I think. I've got a good feeling about it." He patted the cushion of the chair at his side. "Now, sit down and tell me how the lovely Megan is doing at her new school. I'm missing her pretty smile."

"You and me both," agreed Julia. It had been a month now since Megan had gone, and Julia missed her so much that sometimes it was a physical pain. The Christmas holiday seemed an awfully long and lonely way away.

"What's that school called again?" he asked. "Some outlandish name isn't it? And out in the back of beyond too."

"Hogwarts." she reminded him, "and yes, it's up in Scotland somewhere. A long way away." She felt a lump in her throat and changed the subject."How much longer will you be in plaster, Isaac? Do you think you'll make it to the ceremony?"

"I doubt it," he sighed. "Heather said she doesn't think this'll come off till the beginning of November, and I'll never get up the hill like this. I reckon I'll make it to Harvest Festival, and the pub and church on Halloween though, if I can get a lift."

"Well, that's something at least," said Julia. "I wish you could be there to give me moral support when I make the Plea though. Next time you change a light bulb just be sure to use something better than a pile of books to stand on!"

Isaac chuckled ruefully. "They say there's no fool like an old fool and they're right. I'll be giving you moral support in spirit." He took her hand and squeezed it. "You'll be fabulous, I guarantee it. In fact, my reputation depends on it!"

They sat companionably by the fire for a time. Isaac dusted shortbread crumbs from his chin. "Why don't you look for someone else, Julia?" he asked. "Megan is growing up so fast. She won't stay with you for ever, you know."

"Oh not you as well," Julia complained. "Have you been talking to Heather? She wants me to join a dating website! What do I want a man for? Apart from opening the odd jar of pickled gherkins I can't see what use one would be."

Isaac clasped his hands in front of his chest. "Companionship? Love? Sex, even?"

Julia was embarrassed to be discussing such things with him. "Well, you didn't look for someone else, did you?" She looked at the cluttered mantelpiece where a photograph of a pretty, middle aged woman nestled amid the mass of bric-a-brac.

Isaac followed her gaze. "No," he agreed. "I didn't. You're right, it's not my business. I won't mention it again. "

.

When they had finished their tea, Julia washed the pots, brought in some logs for the fire, and kissed him goodbye. Then she and Albie made their way home. It was warm in the low afternoon sun and clouds of midges flickered in the air.

As they walked, Julia turned her mind to preparations for the Harvest Festival. She paused and picked a handful of late blackberries, while Albie waited optimistically by a tree for the squirrel he had chased up there to reappear. She delicately removed a tiny spider and ate a berry. She would make apple pies, she decided, and wondered if they had Harvest Festival at Hogwarts.

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	2. Harvest Festival

**Chapter Two: Harvest Festival**

* * *

.

The little Norman church in the village was dressed up in its Harvest Festival finery, and the air was infused with the delicate scent of the of the flowers and leaves that the ladies of the WI had spent the past two days ruthlessly ordering into deceptively artless sprays and swags. Garden produce, cakes, pies and preserves, tins and packets of food were all arranged in lavish rows behind the pulpit. The small regular congregation was swelled by those villagers for whom, like Julia, Harvest Festival was more of a social occasion than a spiritual one.

Though sceptical about religion in general, Julia had developed a deep attachment to the Green Man and grotesque beasts which cavorted shamelessly in the gnarls and whorls of the old wooden pews. She was especially fond of the little sheela-na-gig who laid herself open all unnoticed above the lych-gate. So she cheerfully joined in with the old familiar hymns she loved and just as cheerfully paid as little attention as usual to the service of thanksgiving. During the dull parts, she allowed her mind to wander.

Just a few short months ago, when the days had still been long and bright, she had been visited by the smallest man she had ever met. With punctilious politeness he had introduced himself as Professor Flitwick from Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Julia had found herself unsurprised, almost as if she had been expecting it. She had a nagging feeling that once her mind had been clearer and sharper than it was now, and sometimes she pictured her memory as a worn out dishcloth; still strong around the edges, but in the middle stretched and thin, full of holes and broken threads. On occasion she found herself groping for something lost, but always the sensation unnerved her and she drew away from the discomfort. There were times, she had to admit, when it worried her.

Professor Flitwick had given her a smart, glossy prospectus describing the school. Julia had read it over and over, until she almost knew it by heart. She did not know why she was so mesmerised by it, except that it felt as if she was reminding herself of something. Professor Dumbledore, she learned, the most influential of the school's former headmasters had been killed in 1997 during the second Wizarding War. Ultimately, however, the Dark Wizard Voldemort had been defeated, and the future of Hogwarts as an institution committed to the education of every child with magical ability, no matter what their origin or parentage, was secured.

Why, she had wondered, did this all seem so familiar? Why did she feel so sad upon reading about the death of someone she had never even known? For weeks afterwards, her nights had been tormented by dreams which were both beautiful and terrible. She did not know whether she longed for them or feared them, for they filled her with joy but always when she woke, her pillow was wet with tears, and her throat ached with grief and loss; but for what, she did not know.

She rubbed her eyes and yawned. The service was drawing to a close.

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* * *

When Julia had first moved into Layhill Cottage, being very pregnant and new, she had hardly been aware of the events surrounding the annual Souling ceremony. She had absent-mindedly given formal permission for the traditional ritual to take place on her land as it had done for centuries, and then forgot about it. The next year as an anxious, first-time mother with a young baby, she had paid hardly more attention. But in her third year, she had thrown herself into the proceedings with enthusiasm and had done ever since. It was a tradition that, in her opinion, embodied the best of egalitarianism, including within its eager ranks, the headmaster of the local high school, a GP, two builders, a plumber, the pub landlord and an ex Hell's-Angel.

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Hanging high on a wall inside the church, above the pew which had centuries ago been dedicated to the Prewett family, seven ancient carved and painted wooden animal-head masks silently watched over the proceedings as they had done for nearly a millennium. After the service, they were unhooked from the wall to be dusted and inspected for damage and worm. When they had all been declared sound, a respectful little procession carried them to the George and Dragon where, with great care, they were arranged above the bar. There they would stay until the evening of October 31st; the night of the year when, they say, the curtain between the worlds of the living and the dead ripples, shifts and can - if the correct precautions are not taken - tear apart.

As if by magic, the landlord summoned platters of sandwiches to be passed around his customers. A group of musicians from the folk club set up in the corner on one side of the crackling log fire and on the other, Isaac sat in some state with his plastered foot up on a stool. The musicians' glasses were regularly replenished and the music became more and more energetic as the afternoon passed. Albie dozed under a table emerging now and then to scavenge crusts.

Megan had always loved this occasion and Julia missed her sharply. She felt a little lonely as she went back to her empty cottage a few hours later.

.

The next few weeks of October passed. The nights drew in, the clocks went back and the last of the russet apples were picked. Rehearsals for the Souling became more frequent - and more fraught - but with the inevitability of winter following autumn, preparations were finally complete.

.

After lunch on the day of Halloween, Julia baked a batch of the spicy, round biscuits called 'Soul cakes' which would be distributed during the course of the festivities. When she had taken them out of the oven and put them to cool on a wire rack, she looked at the time. Since the clocks had gone back, she still had not quite adjusted to the early darkness.

She put on her coat and boots. "Come on Albie," she said, "we'll go and check out the bonfire while we've still got some light. You can evict any hedgehogs for me." He wagged his tail. Sometimes she thought the dog understood every word she said.

.

Some said there had once been a barrow upon the summit of Lay Hill, and on the eastern side, three large stones that might have been a dolmen jutted awkwardly through the scrub and brambles. It was a magnet for treasure hunters and after a spate of night-hawking had left ugly holes all over the hill, the local metal detecting club had become the unofficial custodians of their local heritage. If it felt sometimes more like vigilantism, nevertheless Julia was reassured by it. Club members regularly patrolled the area for her, in return for which, she gave them permission to search on her less sensitive fields. She was impressed by the depth of their local historical knowledge and was always interested in what they found.

Occasionally, interesting objects turned up. In a little cabinet along with a polished black Neolithic hand axe which had been in the cottage when she moved in, she kept an exquisite small gold zoomorphic ring. It was in the shape of two serpents, each holding the tail of the other in its mouth. The finder had shown it to her with mingled reluctance and excitement. She thought he fought something of an internal battle, tempted to keep the find to himself. She sympathised. Adam was a young self-employed landscape gardener with three small children, for whom a few hundred pounds would make a huge difference.

"This is treasure," she had said to him, "it needs to be reported and valued." But the valuation, when it finally came back several months later, was, Julia privately thought, ridiculously low. It was worth a great deal more to her, and she had happily paid Adam a sum well in excess of what he had expected. This had cemented a relationship which she had to admit probably contained an element of him thinking she had more money than sense. Which at times was probably true.

.

The sky was overcast but the rain was holding off as Julia and Albie walked up to the flat top of the hill where the untidy heap of pallets, fence panels and scrap wood waited. A movement surprised her as she approached, and she hurried towards it. Someone scurried away into a nearby copse before she got there, but she was just in time to catch a grubby boy as he tried to extricate himself from the bonfire pile.

"Ow!" he yelled. "Leggo a me ear!"

"Not a chance," she said. "Not until you tell me what you've been doing. Nothing good I'll be bound." She tipped his head back for a better look. "Jack Hargreaves," she said. "I should have guessed. Does your mother know where you are?" His silence spoke volumes. "Albie," she said, "Guard!" She let go of the boy's ear. Albie stood attentively watching him.

"Albie won't bite me," said the boy defiantly.

"He will if I tell him to," said Julia. "Let's see what you've been up to." She investigated the fire pile. "You little sod!" she exclaimed. "A car tyre!" She heaved the offending article out from where the boys had tucked it behind some old garden trellis. "The day you burn a tyre on this bonfire is the last day it'll be on my land, tradition or no tradition! Take the blasted thing away with you, and I'd better not find it in a hedge somewhere or there'll be hell to pay. And I'll be having words with your mother. And yours too!" she yelled at the other boy who was hovering anxiously nearby. "Let him go, Albie," she said. "The little beggar's not worth bothering with."

Relieved of his duty, Albie wandered off and began sniffing around in the bonfire. Jack sulkily dragged the tyre away and joined his friend, and the two of them made a speedy getaway, rolling the tyre before them down the hill.

.

The villagers were fortunate with the weather that year. The day had started with unpromising wind and rain but by the time darkness fell, it was dry and still. The bonfire was lit and some of the ladies from the WI distributed baked potatoes and sausages.

Shortly before eleven, the dancers, mummers, musicians and various others including Julia and the vicar made their way to the pub. There, the landlord was waiting with hot mulled ale and Julia's soul cakes. When everyone had been offered a glass, and some had accepted more than others, a song or two was sung.

Then the masks were taken down from their temporary home above the bar. The dancers, dressed in their costumes of moss-green waistcoat, knee-britches and clogs, reverently took possession of them, and the small procession made its way the few yards to the church. The lights were on inside, the door was open and the friendly vicar, made extra mellow by the ale and the occasion ushered them in. The dancers laid the seven masks carefully on the floor in front of the lectern and everyone trooped into the pews.

The vicar had a pleasingly sonorous voice as he gave the traditional address.

"My friends, on this night of All Hallows' Eve when the Lord sees fit to grant spirits the means of passing through the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead, we must remember . . ."

Julia stopped paying attention, this was the same every year. Instead she concentrated on picking out the hidden faces and beasts that were so cleverly concealed in the intricate tracery of foliage carved on the old rood screen.

" . . . so from temptation and wickedness and all such things may the Good Lord deliver us."

She recognised the end of the sermon. "May the Good Lord deliver us, Amen," she intoned obediently, along with everyone else.

And then the first part of the job was done, and they were ready for business. Julia glanced at her watch. It was twenty minutes to twelve. The last part of the ritual was traditionally supposed to take place at midnight. By the look of it, they were going to be exactly on time. An edge of excitement and anticipation hummed in the air. For all there had been a party atmosphere earlier, now the mood was more serious.

The dancers picked up their masks, each knowing their own, and fastened them on, Julia helping here and there with straps, buckles and laces. The Mummers grouped together, and the fiddler tuned his violin to the melodeon. Then Julia pulled a loose black dress over her head and donned the final part of her costume, which was a dark widow's veil that covered the whole of her head and face, falling below her shoulders.

The dancers performed their set first outside the pub and then continued alternately walking and dancing to the base of the hill, followed by the musicians and mummers with spectators bringing up the rear. It was not possible to dance on the steep narrow path that meandered up the side of the hill, and Julia pulled the veil away from her face to see where she was going until she reached the top. The flat summit formed a natural performing space, dimly lit by the dying bonfire.

After performing their short but complicated routine again, the dancers stepped back to the edge of the space to give the mummers room to act out their play. When the odd creature called the 'Black Dog' (although it resembled no dog ever seen) had been slain by St George, then brought back to life by the Doctor and Maid Marian it was time for Julia's part.

She threw back the veil and stepped up on to a low wooden plinth. A musician started to play the plaintive lament on a penny whistle. She had practised this many times and was filled with confidence. She opened her mouth, drew a deep breath, and began the intonation.

_"I made a grave both long and deep,_

_And laid you in it for to sleep._

_I laid sweet violets at your feet,_

_And prayed the Lord your soul to keep."_

About halfway through the short verse, the oddest sensation came over her. She no longer knew what she was saying. Despite the weeks of practice, she had forgotten the words. Yet they kept coming. And her voice did not feel or sound like her own. It was deeper and stronger; richer and more complex. Julia could no more have stopped at that point, than she could have touched the moon. The atmosphere was charged and tense; the audience completely hushed. The back of her neck prickled and itched uncomfortably.

_"But now my love, I'll call you home,_

_No more in darkness for to roam._

_For on this night of all the year,_

_The door is open, the way lies clear."_

She fell silent, feeling she was waiting for something. Suddenly the dying embers of the fire exploded into a dazzling plume of blue flame and everything was illuminated in a bright cold light for several seconds. Then just as quickly, it died down again. Julia thought she might have given an involuntary cry of shock. There was a stunned silence for a moment broken by the sound of startled in-drawn breaths. A brief smattering of unexpected applause rippled around the audience, then someone called, "Now all for themselves, and may the Black Dog take the hindmost!"

That was the cue for everyone to make their way down the hill as fast as they could. Julia pulled off the thick veil, scratching at the back of her neck which was developing into itchy lumps. She hiked the long skirt up above her boots, and made her way down the hill behind the others.

.

She opened the back door of her house and ushered Albie out into the garden. She felt very strange. The sky was clouding over, the wind was getting up, and there was a faint rumbling of thunder overhead. As she lifted her face into the breeze, a few heavy drops of rain splashed cold on her cheeks.

.


	3. The Ragged Man

**Chapter Three: The Ragged Man**

* * *

The rain that had begun to fall in a violent storm during the early hours of Saturday the first of November grew heavier and it poured down all weekend. On Sunday afternoon, the phone rang. It was Heather.

"You might want to keep Albie indoors," she said. "Joe took a pot-shot at a stray dog earlier, but he couldn't find it afterwards. Thinks it got away, but it's hurt."

"That's not like Joe!" said Julia, startled.

"I know," said Heather. "He's not easily spooked, but he was on the hill checking the sheep. Up near the stones. He said this thing came out of nowhere and it was just about the biggest bugger he'd ever seen. Bigger than Albie."

"That is big," agreed Julia. "I'll be careful. Thanks for the warning, Heather."

The ceaseless downpour continued into the week. The locals grumbled about the safety of the river bridge, and the Met. Office issued localised weather warnings. The Lower Meadow was under two feet of water and would probably remain so until spring.

.

On Tuesday morning, Julia looked out at the deluge and decided to put Albie in her car and drive over to Laybrook Court for one of her regular visits to the local old people's home. Although there was sometimes a resident who wasn't happy around the huge dog, on the whole he was very popular. Staff said that the more recalcitrant patients were often calmer after a visit from him.

When she arrived, she was pleased to find that the man who many of the villagers called 'Simple John' was there too. She never called him that herself, and thought he was not as simple as many believed. John was somewhere in his late fifties. Several years previously he had been an engineer, but a terrible head injury had left him no longer capable of holding down a job. His gentle, blue-eyed gaze was sometimes rather absent and he spoke slowly and softly with long, vacant pauses; sometimes it was hard to hear what he said. Yet his manual dexterity was unaffected and he had an astonishing talent for carving animals from wood. He rarely made anything other than dogs, but what dogs they were!

From time to time, he visited the nursing home where his vagueness was no barrier to communication. Many of the occupants already had examples of his work; indeed so did the staff and most of the village. But even those who called him 'simple' were in awe of his ability to draw such vibrant life from unpromising chunks of inanimate timber. Most of his carvings were very small, but at home, Julia had a larger one carved from a piece of burl hawthorn. It looked just like Albie.

Albie was pleased to see John, too. Once he had made his circuit of greetings, intuitively avoiding those residents who did not appreciate his size and cold, wet nose, he parked himself comfortably at John's feet while he worked.

As entranced as everyone else, Julia watched John's long, thin fingers skilfully teasing a realistic likeness from another piece of knotty fruit wood with nothing more than a little penknife. She wondered if he remembered his past life; if he missed the complex mechanical processes he could no longer make sense of.

.

On her way home afterwards, she called into the village shop to buy something for supper.

"What about that storm, then?" said Mrs Nicholls, the shopkeeper. "Seems hardly anyone else had it you know? And this rain! Relentless! We've had six month's worth in three days. They've even postponed the bonfire at the community centre because everything's so darned wet!"

"Doesn't surprise me," agreed Julia. "I just wish it would stop, I can't even take Albie for a proper walk. He's as fed up with driving everywhere as I am."

Mrs Nicholls continued comfortably, getting into her stride. "They say there's a tramp around the village. Apparently old George nearly ran into him in his van yesterday. Right in the middle of the road, like he didn't know what a car was! So do be careful, Julia, won't you, out there on your own."

"Albie'll look after me," said Julia.

"I know he will," said Mrs Nicholls. "Here," she passed over a package wrapped in a plastic bag. "I saved some bones for him."

.

As Julia left the shop she saw a boy with a wheelbarrow outside, sheltering under a huge fishing umbrella. A sign written on a piece of cardboard said, _'£1 for the Guy'._

"In my day it was a penny for the Guy," she said, peering under the umbrella. "Oh, Jack Hargreaves, fancy seeing you here! That's a very impressive effigy I must say. You've put an admirable effort into making that." She gave the Guy a sharp poke and it yelled in shock. "You, my boy," she said to Jack, admiringly, "are destined for great things. Great things indeed. Or a life behind bars. One or the other. Here." She tossed him a pound coin.

.

She decided to call at Isaac's before going home and found him looking much happier. "Dratted plaster's off at last! Don't think I could have stood it much longer. Come in. don't drip all over the mat. Did I hear the kettle going on?"

"You did," she said, "but I haven't had time to bake. I'm afraid it's digestives or nothing today."

"Typical," he grumbled. "Just as well Heather dropped by with a Battenberg then."

"You're a lucky man, having all these women fussing over you."

"Henpecked, more like," he said complacently. "So," he added, when they were comfortably ensconced by the fire. "Tell me all about it. I was very sorry to have missed it, but I couldn't have made it up the hill with my bloody ankle in plaster. I've been hearing . . . interesting things. In a good way, of course."

"Interesting? Yes it was that!" Julia gazed into the hearth. "I don't know how to describe it, Isaac, it was just the oddest thing. It felt . . . well, it felt as if it wasn't really me speaking. I can't explain. And then the fire! I think Jack Hargreaves must have sneaked something dodgy on to it. I can't think of any other reason."

"Curious. Very. It's the fourth of November today," he said. "In some places they call this 'Mischief Night'. They say it is the eve of winter."

.

As dusk fell, Albie was oddly restless, repeatedly going to the back door and whining softly, but then returning to his spot by the fire. Julia put his strange behaviour down to lack of exercise, and decided that regardless of the weather she would take him out for a long walk next day. She opened the back door and shooed him out into the garden.

After a time, she realised she had not heard him scratching to be let back in. She peered out into the sodden darkness, calling his name, but he did not appear. She waited a few more minutes and tried again, and once more got no response. A sick feeling lodged in her stomach, as she remembered what Heather had told her a few days before. Her throat was tight with anxiety. _Don't be silly_ she thought, _he's only been out for twenty minutes. It's much too soon to panic_. She shrugged on a raincoat and pair of wellingtons, took the big torch that hung by the door and ventured out into the dark, calling him.

All she could hear was the remorseless rain and the splatter of water falling from a blocked gutter on to the porch roof. Her garden was not particularly large and she quickly established that he was not there. She made her way to the front of the house, shining her torch out into the empty lane and shouting, then she checked the shed where she kept Megan's bicycle and the lawnmower and garden chairs, in case he had somehow got stuck inside. Chewing her lip with worry, she squelched her way to the gap in the fence and out into the meadow. The ground was saturated and she nearly lost her boots several times as she headed for the old hay barn.

By the light of the torch she made out the shape of her dog, his dark coat slick and glossy with water. For a horrible, panicked moment she thought he was hurt and hurried towards him, clumsy in the mud. Then she saw he was not hurt, but intent upon something.

Crouching, hunched against the mouldy bales was a person; an old man - though barely recognisable as such.

She hadn't brought her mobile phone out with her. _Stupid!_ she thought. Her only possible weapon was the torch. _But Albie will protect me. Won't he?_ The old man did not move and after several seconds she cautiously approached and shone her torch into his face. He was running with water. "Bloody hell!" Anxiety made her edgy and strident. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Julia thought about going back to the house and calling the police, but Albie was behaving oddly. He was staring at the tramp and whining softly, but there was no aggression in his manner. "You really are a useless bodyguard," she complained, nudging him with her toe. "About as much use as a chocolate teapot." She turned back to the stranger. "You, whoever you are. You can stay here if you like. I won't call the police. Yet. Don't still be here tomorrow, right?"

She got no response.

"Albie, come away!" The dog did not move. Julia lost patience. "Now!" she insisted grabbing his collar. With all her strength she dragged him unwillingly back to the cottage and pushed him through the door.

She locked all the doors - a precaution she rarely bothered with - and went uneasily to bed. Albie refused to go upstairs with her and after an hour of listening to him whining miserably and scratching at the back door, she gave up and went downstairs. "For goodness sake, Albie! What has got into you?"

Beaten, she opened the door and the dog shot out as if all the devils of hell were behind him. It was still pouring with rain. With a deep sigh of defeat she went back upstairs to get dressed, then followed him out into the night. She did not bother looking for him in the garden, but headed straight to the barn. The stranger was still there, huddled abjectly on the ground. A stream of water was coursing down his back from a hole in the roof. He showed no sign of caring or even noticing. Albie was licking his hand.

Julia crouched down and shone her torch into the stranger's dirty, emaciated face. He squinted, dazzled by the light, but showed no other reaction.

"You're right, Albie," she said, "he can't stay out here. I don't think he'll last the night. Come on, mate, you'll have to come with me." She urged the man up and partly lifted, partly pulled him back towards the cottage. As they passed the garden shed she paused to retrieve a thin foam mattress from the sun lounger. She hoped it was washable.

"Come on." She opened the back door and pushed him firmly into the utility room. "Don't hang about, we're wet enough. You'll have to stay in here." Albie followed close at his heels.

The stranger slid down the wall into a heap on the floor.

Julia dropped the mattress on the tiles and went into the kitchen. She boiled the kettle and made two cups of tea, putting several spoons of sugar in one. then took them back into the utility room where the man was sitting by the door. He was barefoot, plastered with mud and must have been freezing cold. She felt acutely guilty for leaving him outside so long. "Sorry, Albie," she murmured. "I should have listened to you." Albie had climbed into his basket. He rested his head on the side and watched attentively, sighing heavily now and again.

She put the cups down on top of the washing machine and laid the mattress out on the floor then went upstairs to find a couple of blankets. When she returned, the man was in exactly the same position by the door. She stood over him. "Can you understand me?" He gave an almost imperceptible nod. "There's a toilet in there," she said, pointing, glad she had had a new downstairs bathroom installed shortly after she had moved in. You can sleep on the mattress. Over here. Come on." She urged him to shift.

As he moved, she noticed a ragged tear at the side of his filthy shirt. It was soaking wet but there were dark stains on it, and she saw with alarm that the water dripping on to the floor was a rusty brown. There was a stain on the wall behind him where he had been leaning.

"That isn't blood is it? Oh no! Can I . . . Just keep still a minute." She peered at his side and saw under the torn fabric, a large, ugly, scabbed wound. "Oh Lord! I'm so sorry. I was going to leave you out there like this!" She turned the radiator on and handed him a blanket, gesturing for him to sit on the mattress.

"We need to get you dry and warm. Wrap yourself up in this. We'll get you looked at properly tomorrow - I don't think a few hours will make much difference. Drink your tea, it shouldn't be too hot." She passed him a cup. He took it from her but looked at it doubtfully. "Go on, drink it," she said, picking up her own, and taking a sip. He copied her, then drained his cup in one huge gulp.

"Well, I think you needed that," she said widening her eyes. "Would you like another? Something to eat?" _Stupid question,_ she thought. _Of course the poor sod wants something to eat_.

She made some toast and another cup of tea with lots of milk. He swallowed the drink in a couple of gulps and crammed the toast into his mouth urgently, butter and crumbs dropping all over his beard.

"Take it easy," she said, "or you'll make yourself ill. There's no rush." His eyelids began to droop and his head nodded, then he jerked awake again. It reminded her of the way Albie sometimes nodded off in front of the fire when he was very warm.

She knelt beside him for a moment, taking his cup and plate. For a second, the electric light reflected silver in his grey eyes. It was a peculiar quality she thought she had only seen before in Megan's, and she felt suddenly disoriented.

"Get some sleep now," she said, but he had subsided on to the mattress and was already dead to the world. She spread the other blanket over him. "I suppose you're staying in here then?" she said to Albie. "Faithless wretch."

After some thought she locked the kitchen door behind her. The stranger might still be a mad axe-murderer, even if Albie was unusually taken with him.

.

She went to bed and drifted into a restless sleep, and a dream in which she was trying to climb an enormous flight of stairs but kept slipping backwards. Albie waited for her on a landing above, looking at her, not with his own soft brown eyes, but with Megan's silver-grey ones. And as she tried to climb towards him, he said to her, _Do you trust me? I love you, Julia, never forget!_

And when she woke before daylight, her pillow was wet and her eyes gummed together with the sticky residue of tears. But outside, the rain had stopped at last.

.


	4. Simon

**Chapter Four: Simon**

* * *

As soon as she thought it was reasonable to do so, Julia rang Heather.

"Jules? Do you know what time it is? Whatever's wrong?"

"Sorry. I didn't get you up, did I?"

"Of course not," said Heather. "You know how ridiculously early we rise here."

"Listen," Julia paused and considered what to say. "I've got a bit of a . . . situation. I could do with some professional advice. Is there any chance you could call by later? Well, sooner than that if you can."

"Give me half an hour."

"Thanks Heather, I owe you."

While she waited, Julia brewed a pot of tea and made a bowl of porridge, sweetening it the way she liked it, with lumps of dark, soft sugar and a splash of cream.

She nudged the stranger awake. At first he was confused and looked frightened, but when he understood what was happening, he gulped the tea down and and messily slurped at the porridge. Julia was slightly revolted. She gave him a wad of kitchen roll and indicated he should wipe his mouth. The paper came away filthy.

She looked at him more closely. She could not really see his features. Dirt was ingrained into every line and his face was partly obscured by straggly whiskers. His hair was long and so filthy and matted, she could not even tell what colour it was.

True to her word, Heather was there very quickly. "Jules," she hissed, "are you _insane_? What were you thinking to let him in? A single woman on your own! He's probably mentally ill or alcoholic. Or both!"

"I know," said Julia uneasily. "I know, Heather, but just . . . look at Albie."

.

Heather and Albie were well acquainted. Eight years ago, when Heather had decided to get another dog after her ancient Labrador had died, Julia and Megan had gone to the dogs' home with her to choose. Heather had come back with an irritable bully of a Jack Russell, while Julia quite unexpectedly found herself in charge of just about the biggest, blackest, shaggiest animal of completely indeterminate breed she had ever seen, and never for a moment had she regretted it. Albie was, she considered, the most intelligent, loyal and comforting companion she could have wished for.

.

The dog lay with his head on the man's lap, watching the two women carefully. The man was awake, wary. His long, dirty fingers moved slowly and repetitively in Albie's coat.

"Weird," said Heather, beckoning. "Hey Albie, come over here, mate." The dog wagged his tail but didn't move. "Well, that dog's always been a rare judge of character, but still . . . strange behaviour."

"I know," said Julia. "The only times I have seen him behave like that before is on the odd couple of occasions when Megan was ill. He was exactly the same then. Wouldn't leave her side for more than a minute or two."

"Weird," repeated Heather. "What did you want me to help with?"

Julia knelt down beside the man and motioned for him to lean forward. She pulled the blanket back. "He's got an injury on his side. I think it needs some medical attention, and it definitely needs cleaning up. But there's no way I could get him in my car and if I call an ambulance I think he might run away. Will you take a look? His shirt is all stuck in it. I think it wants cutting off."

Heather peered over Julia's shoulder. "Yep," she agreed. "Let's get rid of that first, and then we can see properly." Between them they peeled the rag away. Julia was shocked at the man's state of emaciation.

"He looks starved! How can this happen in this day and age?"

Heather shrugged. "Sometimes people's lives just . . . go wrong. 'There, but for the grace of God', you know. Come on, this looks nasty. I'll have to clean it properly, then I'll have a better idea of what we're dealing with. Can you get a better light please, Jules. And a bowl of water and towel." She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and started picking out fragments of cloth and pieces of thread with a pair of tweezers.

"He's absolutely black with dirt. I've never seen anything quite this bad." She swabbed gently with antiseptic and the man sucked in his breath. "This really should have a proper local anaesthetic," Heather said to him. "Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" There was no response.

Julia and Heather exchanged glances. "I suppose that's a 'no', then," said Heather.

The man was silent, though he tensed as the tender wound was prodded and Heather poked about at it. "This is really nasty, but astonishingly, it's not infected. It should have been treated days ago, but there's not much point now. It's already started to heal. Oh, what's . . . oh!" She looked more closely. "Hang on, there's something in there."

On impulse, Julia took his hand, surprised to feel hard calluses on his palm. He returned her grip tightly, his eyes screwed shut. Several times he exhaled hard between clenched teeth, and he did not let go of her hand until Heather had finished. "Look." She held several small black objects out.

Julia was horrified. "Shotgun pellets! He's been shot! I can't believe it! Who would do a thing like that? Not round here!"

Heather shook her head. "It will leave a terrible scar. It might be worth putting some antiseptic on from time to time, but otherwise just keep it clean and dry. If he's still here in a few days, perhaps you can persuade him to have a shower and get cleaned up a bit. But if I were you I'd give Social Services a call. This really isn't your responsibility, Jules. He's severely malnourished."

"Well, that's something I can deal with. But you're right, I know. I will give them a ring."

"And another thing," said Heather. "I don't think he's as old as he looks."

.

Social Services, predictably enough, were not interested. Overstretched and underfunded, their advice was vague to the point of nonexistence and consisted mainly of the address of a hostel for homeless men some ten miles away. Thirty minutes later, Julia tersely ended the conversation and hung up.

When she went back into her utility room, the man was asleep again, lying on his stomach.

"Well then," she said to his unconscious back. "For the time being, it's just us I suppose." She pulled the blanket up over his bony shoulder.

.

And that, more or less, was how it was for the next few days. Every two or three hours, Julia would leave a drink and some food by his side, give him little nudge and leave. And several times a day, she would take the empty dishes away and bring some more food. She barely saw him stir. On the third day, Heather called by to take a look at the wound as he slept, and pronounced herself satisfied with progress. Albie started to relax and allowed Julia to take him for short walks again, although he did start to fret after half an hour or so.

Julia considered ringing Laybrook Court and crying off for the rest of the week, but surveying the tramp's unresponsive form, she saw no point in staying at home; the old people at the Court would appreciate her much more. So she deposited a bag of sandwiches by his side, left Albie in charge and went about her normal business.

On the sixth day of his stay, he was awake and sitting up when Julia went in to collect his plate in the middle of the morning. "You're awake at last!" She knelt on the floor beside him. "Can you talk?"

He seemed to be trying to say something. There was a faint sound and he was working his mouth as if he was trying to remember how. Eventually there was a hoarse, "Y-es. Yes. I . . . can . . . talk."

"Wow. So you can. Take your time. I'll make some tea and we'll try a bit more, hm?"

She poured two cups, and went in to him, taking a kitchen chair with her. She sat down on it, and looked at him thoughtfully. "So, what's your name?"

"I . . . er . . . I don't know. S . . . Sss . . . No, I don't know," he repeated. "Sorry."

"You don't need to apologise," she said. "Do you think your name begins with 'S', though?"

"I . . . think so. Maybe."

"Stephen? Samuel? Simon?"

He looked blank.

"I've got to call you something," she said. "Shall I call you Simon for now?"

He shrugged. "You," he said. "What's your name?"

"Oh, I'm Julia."

"Ju . . . Julia," he said. "Nice name. Thank you, Julia."

She felt oddly pleased. "Drink your tea," she said. "Now I can ask if you take sugar?"

He took a mouthful from his mug. "I do now," he said. Julia laughed.

"When is it?"he asked.

"What do you mean, when is it?" She was taken aback. "Do you mean, what is the date? It's the twelfth of November."

"Twelfth of November, when?"

_"When?_ You mean what _year?"_

"Er, Yes."

She gaped. "It's two thousand and eight."

"Two thousand and eight," he repeated.

"Helpful?"

He shook his head and looked miserable.

The conversation had stalled. "Would you like to get up and go into the garden for a few minutes?" said Julia. "The weather is quite mild and the fresh air might do you good."

He brightened.

"Do you need a hand up?"

"No." He got to his feet with an unexpectedly graceful movement, holding the grubby blanket around him. Julia had expected him to be stiff and unsteady, but he did not appear to be either.

"Goodness!" she said, "aren't you tall! And you haven't any shoes, I'd forgotten!"

He looked at his feet. "Shoes? I don't need them. Are you going to let me out?"

"You aren't a prisoner, you know," she said, startled. "Is that how you feel?"

He shook his head and gave a crooked half-smile that made her feel a bit strange.

They went out into the garden. He walked barefoot over the wet grass, Albie at his heels. Julia stood by the door and watched him. It was a breezy day and the trees were losing the last of their leaves. They collected in bright drifts in the corners of the flower beds. The sun shone in irregular bursts from behind scurrying clouds. After a few minutes she noticed he was shivering.

"Back now," she said firmly. "That's enough for today."

He seemed reluctant to go back inside, but she was insistent. "The garden will still be here tomorrow." She warmed a mug of soup and buttered several slices of bread for him, then rang Heather. "Just thought I'd let you know he's woken up. Can you spare a minute to come over this afternoon?"

When Heather arrived later she was lugging a plastic bin liner full of clothes. "Here," she said, ungraciously plonking the bag on Julia's kitchen floor. "I still think you're crazy, but I was taking these to the recycling centre and then I thought you might be able to make use of them. Shall I take another look at him?"

"Would you? I'd be very grateful," said Julia.

"Has he spoken to you yet?"

"Yes, a bit," said Julia. "It was very strange at first, as if he couldn't quite remember how, but once he got started - well, he can speak perfectly - and he doesn't have an accent. In fact he's really well spoken - _really_ well spoken. Public school well spoken."

"You're kidding? Well, it just goes to show. Has he told you anything about himself?"

"He doesn't seem to know anything. Some sort of amnesia I think. You'll know better than me. He doesn't even seem sure of his own name, but it starts with 'S'. I think it might be Simon. That's what I'm calling him anyway." Julia opened the utility room door. "What do you think?"

Heather poked her head through. "He looks better. You've been feeding him."

"It's nice to have someone to feed."

"You miss Megan, don't you?"

"Terribly," admitted Julia. "I needed a project, and this seems to fit the bill."

Heather folded her arms and looked disapproving. "I don't know why you wanted to send her so far away to that swanky school."

"It's not a swanky school," protested Julia. "It's for children with special . . . gifts. She wanted to go so much, I couldn't deny her that."

.

Heather looked at the wound on the tramp's side. "This has come on really well," she said. "There's no reason not to get cleaned up now. Hey fella? Get a shower. Okay?

He nodded mutely.

"Good," said Heather, patting his shoulder. "I'll pop by again at some point, Jules. Any problems, any worries - anything at all - call me."

"Thank you, Heather. You're a real friend."

"It works both ways," said the other woman affectionately. "You owe me cake."

"It's a deal. I'll make you a Christmas cake, will that do?" Impulsively, Julia gave her a hug.

"Don't be so soft. Just look after yourself. And get baking."

.

Julia saw Heather out then went back to Simon. "Heather's right," she said. "You'll feel better after a shower and a change of clothes."

She sorted through the things in the bag. Unless Heather had been planning on sending some of Joe's perfectly serviceable underwear to recycling too, she hadn't been telling the whole truth. Julia was touched.

She found a new toothbrush, and demonstrated the shower. "It's easy. Press this button to turn it on, and this one to turn it off, and use this knob to turn the temperature up and down. That's all there is to it, honestly!"

Simon still seemed hesitant.

"You'll have to do this by yourself," she said. "I'm afraid we really aren't well enough acquainted for me to wash you." One side of his mouth quirked into a smile that gave her a pang like something almost familiar, but forgotten.

When she heard the shower running, she surveyed the filthy mattress and blankets and wondered if she should try to make him more comfortable. She hardened her heart, reminding herself that he was an unwelcome and troublesome nuisance, and the sooner he was on his way, the better. She compromised by turning the filthy mattress over, putting a sheet on it, and finding a couple of clean blankets.

When she had done that, she went up to Megan's bedroom and stripped the bed, glad to find that she could deal with it at last. Since the beginning of September, Julia had not been able to face even going into the room. Under the mattress on Megan's bed was a tattered photograph of a man who looked out with eyes very much like her daughter's thoughtful grey ones. Julia knew where it was hidden, though she could hardly bear to look at it. It felt like prodding at an open wound. She was careful not to disturb it. She had loved him and he was dead. That much she understood, but everything else was lost in a fog.

One of Megan's books lay on the floor under the bed. She picked it up and dusted it with her hand. It was a book on astronomy. There was a bookmark in it, and Julia opened it to the page which showed a simplified diagram of the constellation of Canis Major. She blinked and shook her head in bemusement, then put the book away on a shelf and went down to prepare a meal.

.

Later on she went back in to see Simon and found him dozing, eyes half shut, sitting on the mattress and leaning against the wall. Now he was clean, she saw that his still-matted hair and straggly beard was grey but with streaks of black. Once it must have been very dark.

"Come in here," she said beckoning from the kitchen door. "Now you can eat at the table like a civilised human being."

He smiled at her again and she felt herself blushing.

.

Stiffly, he sat at her kitchen table.

"You look better," said Julia. "Do you feel better?"

"I do," he said. "Much. Thank you, Julia."

"Don't thank me," she said. "Anyone else would do the same."

He looked doubtful. "I don't think so."

She spooned some food on to the plates. "Help yourself to salad."

They began to eat and Julia watched him curiously. "You've used a knife and fork before, at least. I had wondered."

He paused, mid-forkful. "I have, haven't I?" he said, looking pleased. "Can I have some more? What is it?"

She laughed. "It's lasagne."

"It's very good."

"Thank you," she said, amused, and pushed the dish towards him. "You might as well finish it."

.


	5. Stir-up Sunday

**Chapter Five: Stir-up Sunday**

* * *

Gossip is the stuff of life to a small place like Layhill. It ebbs and flows organically through the lives of its inhabitants, so Julia was not in the least bit surprised to find that everyone seemed to know her business, and about her 'pet tramp'. She was rather more so to learn that 'her' tramp was, respectively, a close relative of the Queen, a member of the IRA or a defunct pop star. But as time passed and no-one was murdered in their beds, the Post Office remained resolutely un-burgled and the village children continued to return safely home each night, the conversation turned to other, more sensational matters.

In Layhill Cottage, Julia made her Christmas card list, soaked the fruit for the cakes in half a bottle of sherry, and became increasingly aware that Simon was becoming rather restless. She did not know what to do about it. He took to walking the side of the hill, barefoot, apparently impervious to the cold and damp, for hours on end, usually accompanied by a delighted Albie.

One Monday morning, Adam rang. "I've got a good load o' logs for you," he said. "They're in rings, so they'll need splitting. I'll bring 'em over this morning."

Julia went outside when she heard his pick-up arrive. He backed into her drive. "I'll tip 'em off 'ere," he said, through his window, "and we'll barrow 'em round to the back. Stand out o' the way."

Julia stood well back as the back of the truck tipped up, and the hefty slices of tree trunk slid off on to the ground. "They're quite big," she said doubtfully. "I'm not sure I'll be able to manage the large ones."

"You've got some 'elp 'aven't you?" said Adam, "so I've heard."

"Oh, I see," said Julia, "you're checking up on me. But you could be on to something." She went round to the back garden where Simon was wrestling with Albie for possession of a tree branch.

"Hey," she said. "How do you fancy making yourself useful?"

Simon looked anxious. "I'd love to make myself useful, if I can."

She beckoned him over. "Oh, damn it, you haven't got any shoes! I'd forgotten. You can't walk on the gravel with no shoes."

"It's fine." he assured her. "Really."

.

Adam looked him up and down dubiously.

"Have you lost your axe, Jules?"

She was indignant. "Of course I haven't lost it! I know exactly where it is!"

"Well go an' get it then," he said, patiently.

She retrieved it from the shed where it was behind Megan's bike and took it to Adam.

He handed it to Simon. "Used one o' these before?"

Simon dangled it helplessly. "I, er, I don't think so."

Adam sniffed scornfully. "City boy, I s'pose. Let me see yer 'ands."

Simon held his hands out. Adam tapped the hard calluses with a fingernail. "Not so bad," he said approvingly. "Better'n I expected. Mebbe you'll be okay. C'm 'ere." He put one of the rings of timber flat on the ground and took the axe back.

"Get one o' these rings for a block. Put another on top. Hold the axe like this, don't grip too tight. Start it on the log. Swing it back over your shoulder. Let your 'and slide down the shaft. The axe'll do the work." He demonstrated. The axe hit the ring of timber smartly and it cracked in half. "Simple, yeah?"

Simon nodded attentively.

"You 'ave a go then, let's see."

He handed the axe over. Simon weighed it in his hands. then held it the way Adam had shown him and swung it over his shoulder. The first few attempts were clumsy and ineffective and Adam had to correct the way Simon was swinging the axe, but before long he had the hang of it.

Adam slapped him on the shoulder. "You've got the knack now. Go easy, you'll feel it for a few days and you'll 'ave blisters. Let's get this lot round to the back garden and I'll leave you to it. You need to get some boots though."

.

Next day Julia went to Laybrook Court, leaving Albie to keep Simon company. John was there again, and during the course of the morning, a vague idea began to take shape in her mind. She invited him him back to her cottage and he accepted happily, tempted by the promise of cake.

The cottage was empty when they got back. She brewed a pot of tea, gave John a large slice of cake, and switched the television on for him while she went to look outside. She stood at the gap in the fence and gave a shrill whistle. She heard a distant bark and went back inside, satisfied that Albie, at least, would soon be back.

In a few minutes she heard Albie scratching at the door, and as she let him in, Simon followed into the garden. She waited for him. "There's someone I want you to meet," she said, waving him into the kitchen. "Simon, this is John. John, meet Simon."

Simon put his hand out to John, who hesitantly took it, giving his slow, absent smile.

"John," she said, "would you like to show Simon how you make your dogs? There's masses of wood outside, I'm sure you'll find plenty you can use."

.

With infinite patience, John showed Simon how to handle the little penknife and how to look for pieces of wood with particular qualities of shape and grain that could be teased into life. And with equal patience, Simon listened and waited through John's long pauses, and deftly guided the conversation back on track when John lost his thread and forgot what he had been saying.

Julia watched unobtrusively. She was curious about the ease with which Simon related to John, accepting his oddities and quirks without hesitation. She was glad. For some undefinable reason the evidence of his natural sociability reassured her.

"I'll have to get a penknife for you, Simon," she said, "and then you can practise by yourself. I thought it might be something interesting for you to do while you're here."

"Here," John handed Simon his little knife.

"Oh no," Simon said, embarrassed, "you need this. I'll find another."

John shook his head slowly, with a wide smile. "I got plenty knives," he said slowly. "You 'ave this'n."

By the time Julia ran him home, she was the possessor of yet another little Albie. She added it to her collection.

.

The following day, Julia was back at the Court, but this time, instead of going straight home afterwards, she drove the few miles to the nearest shopping centre and went to the Army and Navy store. She picked up a couple of pairs of combat pants, a thick padded shirt in the largest size they had, a couple of plain t-shirts, some thick socks, and after making an educated guess at the size, a pair of work boots.

When she got to the counter with her stack of purchases, she noticed that displayed under the glass top was a large selection of knives. On impulse, she asked the assistant what would be best for whittling.

Helpfully, he offered to make a phone call and check, and after getting some advice he showed her three different ones. "This is probably the best," he said, taking the lid off a box and showing her. "But it's also the most expensive."

When he told her how much it was, her jaw dropped. "How much? For a penknife? Good grief! It should be solid gold for that! I'll take two please. I hope you're on commission."

.

She felt slightly awkward later, and knew she was being ungracious as she shoved the bundle of clothes and the boots at Simon. "If the boots don't fit," she said "I can change them, so make sure your feet are clean before you try them on."

"You've bought these for me?" He stood still with his arms full. A deep crease appeared between his eyebrows. "I don't know what to say. Thank you, Julia. I wish I could repay you somehow."

"Don't be daft," she said, embarrassed. "I can afford it. Just keep me supplied with firewood. Oh yes." She handed him one of the penknives. "I got this too. You can give John's back to him now."

Simon looked at the new knife.

"This is much better than John's. I think you should give him the new one."

"Oh Simon!" She was touched. "You are so sweet. There's no need, I bought one for him too."

Simon smiled at her with such warmth that she became positively light headed and had to go and peel some potatoes until she felt more normal.

.

After that, it seemed that whenever Simon was not chopping logs or walking with Albie on the side of the hill, he was whittling bits of wood. If the weather was fair he sat outside, indifferent to the cold, with Albie close by. When it was raining or dark he worked in the utility room.

Julia couldn't say she was all that impressed with the results, which mostly didn't seem to look like anything very much. But she wouldn't have dreamed of saying so, and to be fair, he didn't ask for her opinion.

They drifted into a loose routine. He learnt to use the kettle and the toaster, to peel vegetables and to wash his own dishes. Gradually he began to spend more time in the kitchen, and now and then even ventured into the sitting room, though never for long.

.

On the afternoon of Stir-up Sunday, when Julia had mixed the Christmas cakes and put them in the oven for their long, slow baking, she said to him, "Why don't you come for a walk with me? You've been here for three weeks now, you know. It's time I introduced you to Isaac."

.

The weather was mild, but damp and overcast. They rounded the hill to the field at the other side, skirting by the headlands where the hedges soaked up some of the rainwater and it was not so muddy. A vee of geese flew north, high overhead, with a faint noise like a distant conversation.

"What's that over there?" asked Simon, nodding towards the end of a neighbouring field where the stream ran in a ditch along the hedge line.

"Where? I can't see anything."

"Come on," he said. "Let's take a look."

"Oh damnation!" she said when they were closer. "It's one of the sheep. They are such stupid things. I think it's caught up in the fence. Joe once told me that a sheep's main ambition in life is to find nasty and unusual ways to die."

Simon laughed. It was an oddly hoarse sound, but she liked it. She looked at him in surprise. "You should do that more often."

When they reached the sheep, they could see it was distressed. It was tangled up in some barbed wire and as they approached, it began to struggle.

"Albie," said Julia, "come here." She led him several yards away. "Stay," she said firmly, "you're scaring it." He lay on the ground looking grumpy.

"I need to get it from the other side," Simon said pulling off his boots and rolling his trousers up.

"Hang on a minute!" she said, "what are you doing -?"

But he had already vaulted nimbly over the fence and stepped into the ditch. "Oh Hades, that's cold!"

From the other side of the fence, he was able to untangle the wire. It was all going well enough until, as he was dealing with the last bit, the foolish animal sensing its near-release, gave an almighty buck and pulled itself free, leaving great hanks of wool on the fence and tipping Simon back into the water. Albie, recognising with delight that his restraint was no longer required, decided to join in the fun and launched himself into the muddy ditch, landing with his huge paws squarely on Simon's shoulders.

"Agh! Merlin's beard, Albie! You half-witted fool!"

Julia looked at him and bit her lip hard. She clapped her hand tight over her mouth.

Simon sat in the mud spitting and picking leaves from his mouth. He looked up at her. "Are you laughing at me?"

"No . . . no. . . Honestly . . . Oh yes, I am. I'm so sorry." For a few seconds she shook helplessly, then she pulled herself together, leaned over the fence and gave him her hand, helping him up the bank.

"It's not very nice to find amusement in the misfortune of others, you know," he said, "but you should do that more, too."

"Come on," she said, "we're not going anywhere now. Let's get you home and in the shower before you get a chill. You can take this daft dog in with you."

.

While Simon and Albie were in the shower, Julia inspected the Christmas cakes, and then sorted some laundry out and took it into the utility room. Simon was in there towelling Albie off. He didn't have a top on. Julia gaped.

He looked self-conscious and snatched at a shirt. "Sorry," he said.

She swallowed. "No, it's me that should be sorry. I was staring. Rude of me." With a shock, she realised that although he was still very thin, he was no longer the helpless, emaciated stranger she had found cowering in her barn just a few weeks ago. The change had been so gradual she hadn't noticed it happening. His torso was marked with strange tattoos.

"Just - do you mind?" She walked around him curiously, trying not to pay too much attention to the way the shadows pooled in the indentations of his spine and below his shoulder blades. The tattoos were on his chest, back, arms and neck; and in the middle of his chest was a roughly star shaped mark that looked like the scar of a deep burn.

"What on earth? Those are . . . strange tattoos. I'm sure I've seen something like that before but I can't recall where. Can you remember anything about them?

He shook his head.

"I don't think they look military." With a growing sense of unease she asked, "Have you, I mean - do you think you might have been - in prison?"

"Prison? I . . . I don't know. Maybe. What if . . . Julia, do you think I have?" He sounded afraid.

"I wonder," she said. "I think I might take you to visit a friend in a few days. Don't worry, he's a good guy. He looks a bit rough but he takes people as he finds them. He won't judge you."

Simon still looked doubtful.

She loaded the washing machine. "Can I cut your hair and trim your beard, Simon? I'm not very good at it, I warn you, but I think I can tidy you up a bit."

He put his hand to his head and face as if surprised to feel the long hair there. "Er, yes, I suppose so. If you like."

.

Julia had some proper hairdressing scissors from the time when she had occasionally cut Megan's hair for her. At about the age of eight or so, however, Megan had expressed a firm intention never again to allow her mother to do this, and insisted on procuring the services of a professional.

She sat him on a chair near the window where the light was good and made a start. Ruthlessly she chopped out the worst bits of matted hair until eventually she could get a comb through, then she chopped a few inches off the bottom.

.

When she had impulsively asked if she could cut his hair, the inevitable intimacy that would result had not occurred to her. She became aware that there was a hint of colour in his cheeks and his breathing had become quicker and shallower. His eyes were half-closed. She noticed the pink of his parted lips and had the ridiculous and almost irresistible urge to stick her finger into his mouth. It made her feel slightly reckless.

As she trimmed the whiskers close on his cheek, she could feel the heat of his skin and his breath on her hands. She noticed a curious pattern of dots tattooed on his neck. Some dots were larger than others. She thought she had seen the pattern before. She wanted to taste them.

She bit the inside of her cheek hard. This couldn't go on. The man was a homeless vagabond! Perhaps that dating website was not such a bad idea. She would ask Heather to find the address for her again.

When she had finished, she surveyed her handiwork. Simon's hair had a natural wave that disguised her complete lack of hairdressing ability rather well. She was startled. The emaciated, drawn look had nearly gone and he had fleshed out remarkably. And he was, as Heather had said, younger than she had thought. She could see that he had once been very handsome. Still was, in fact, in a rather wasted way.

"Well, I'm no Vidal Sassoon," she said, "but you look much better. Come on, let's find a mirror."

.

For a moment, both of their faces were reflected side by side in the mirror. He stood before it for a long time, looking; his brow furrowed in thought.

"Anything coming back to you?" she asked.

"Nothing." He leaned his head against the mirror and closed his eyes. "I don't think I'll ever remember. There's nothing there." He sounded defeated.

"Hey," she said, rubbing his shoulder. "It will, I'm sure. Just give it time and don't worry about it." Unexpectedly, he lifted his hand and laid it over hers. It felt entirely natural and they stayed like that for several seconds before Julia pulled away.

.


	6. Modes of Transport

**Chapter Six: Modes of Transport**

* * *

By the end of the week, Julia had made up her mind. She went into the garden where Simon was neatly stacking logs against the sheltered wall of her shed. "We're going out," she said. "I want you to meet someone." She picked up the padded shirt he had thrown carelessly on the ground and handed it to him. "We'll drive."

.

He stood by her car looking nervous.

"Get in." She opened the passenger door.

"Er . . ."

"Come on," she said giving him a little push. He climbed in awkwardly and Julia shut the door behind him. She got in to the driver's side and started the engine. The seatbelt warning light on the dashboard was flashing.

"Buckle up," she said.

Simon looked confused. "Ah, pardon?"

"Put your seatbelt on."

"Seatbelt?"

She looked at him with growing astonishment. "You have been in a car before, surely?"

"I . . . I don't know. Actually, I don't think so."

She leaned across him to get the seatbelt, and fastened it for him. "Well this will be interesting then, won't it?" she said brightly.

She drove the three miles or so through the narrow country lanes. From time to time she cast a sidelong glance at Simon. He looked, frankly, terrified, and gripped the door armrest with one hand and his seatbelt with the other, his knuckles white with tension.

She started to feel rather irritated. "For crying out loud, you're perfectly safe. I haven't gone over thirty miles an hour! For heaven's sake let go of the bloody armrest!" She turned off the lane into a narrow track, at the end of which rested a small bungalow with a gravel yard in front. She pulled up and turned off the engine.

She looked over at Simon. He was staring out of the window across the yard to where a shaven-headed, bearded giant of a man was getting to his feet, wiping his hands on an oily rag. Beside him was a glorious, gleaming hulk of a motorcycle.

"Simon? What is it?" He fumbled at the door. Julia leaned across and opened it for him. "Wait! Let me unfasten your seatbelt!"

He scrambled out of the car and walked across the yard as if in a daze.

The huge Geordie looked wary. "Hey man, take it easy! Jules, who is this guy?"

"Sorry, Rick, this is Simon. For the time being anyway."

"Oh aye. Your pet tramp?"

She sighed. "I suppose so, since you put it so eloquently."

Simon glanced at her with something like hurt. He was touching the bike gently with his fingertips, stroking it. The movement of his hands was sensual. Julia shivered.

"This is an A10," he said. "I know what it is. It's beautiful."

"She is an' all. I'm thinkin' o' sellin her. Are you in'erested?"

"Oh. I . . . I don't think I've got any money."

"You'll have to work on Jules. She's got plenty."

Julia pulled a face at him. "Can we go inside for a bit? I want to ask your opinion on something, but we can't do it out here. Is Doreen in?"

"She is. Go and get the kettle on." He looked back at Simon and shrugged. "I'll bring your mate in when he's ready."

As she went into the house, she heard the bike engine rumble into life behind her.

.

Doreen was a few years older than Julia, small and fierce, with hair dyed an unlikely shade of red and heavily applied eye make-up. "They'll be hours out there if we let them," she said. "Like bloody kids they are, when they get together."

Rick and Simon were outside so long that by the time the low throbbing sound of the motor eventually stopped, the water in the kettle was barely warm. Doreen rapped sharply on the window and impatiently beckoned them in.

Julia and Doreen sat at the kitchen table and Rick and Simon leaned their backsides companionably against the worktop. Clearly, they had already struck up some sort of friendship. Julia recognised that Simon had an indefinable way of communicating with people on a very subliminal level. She thought he was completely oblivious to it, but she was certainly not immune to his unconscious charm herself. She pondered. "Simon, will you let Rick look at your tattoos?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Here?"

She nodded. Unselfconsciously he took off the padded shirt and pulled his t-shirt over his head.

Doreen snickered appreciatively. "Lucky girl, you," she said to Julia.

Simon grinned at her, and Doreen went into a mock swoon.

Julia smirked a bit. She couldn't help it.

"Doreen!" said Rick, "close your eyes, woman!" He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. "Turn round."

Simon did. Rick shook his head. "That's some seriously weird shit, man. The only thing I've seen like that was years ago on a guy from Eastern Europe. He'd been inside somewhere really heavy. Like Romania? He was one hard fucker I can tell you. But these? Nah I don't recognise them. Not at all. That's a nasty wound you've got there though. Looks like shotgun scatter? I've seen that a time or two."

"You haven't heard anything - on the grapevine?" asked Julia.

"Nay, Man, I'd've heard if someone'd been shootin' in these parts."

Simon put his clothes back on. Julia and Doreen shared a brief expression of regret.

Just changin' the subject for a minute," said Rick, "the Souling was interestin' I thought."

"Oh, yes!" Julia rubbed the back of her neck, remembering. "Well, it was a bit peculiar to be honest. I must have been practising too much or something. It was okay in the end though, I think."

"More than okay, I'd say," said Rick. "It was uncanny. I was half expectin' to see ghosts appearin' outta the hill!" He executed a complicated little hop and skip. For a big man carrying a lot of weight, he was surprisingly nimble and light on his feet. "Any chance of Maid Marian for next year, Jules?" he said. "What d'you think pet?"

"Absolutely not," said Julia, "the dress will never fit."

Rick looked crestfallen for a moment but soon cheered up. He shook Simon's hand firmly as they left, slapping him on the shoulder. He paused for a moment. "We havena met before?"

"I don't know. Do you think we might have?"

"Ah dunna. Just summat' . . . years ago, down in the Smoke. Way back. '79, '80? There was a lad. . . Very popular wi' the girls. There wur rumours about 'im . . ." He shook his head. "Nah. I'll see you again soon, pal, yeah?"

"I hope so." said Simon, looking at Julia with a question in his eyes.

He was more relaxed in the car on the way back. "Pet tramp?" he asked.

"Ah," she felt slightly embarrassed. "I didn't start it you know. Someone in the village did, I imagine."

"Oh. Well I am a tramp. I suppose. Probably. But your _pet_?" His voice softened. "Really?"

Julia couldn't catch her breath. The image it conjured up in her mind made her feel positively hot. She didn't answer and drove the rest of the way in uncomfortable silence. She thought he was grinning, but didn't dare look. She hoped her face was not as red as it felt.

.

Next morning she phoned Heather. "You were right. I need to start meeting people again. Men, that is. I think I need a boyfriend. Otherwise I'm going to have a big problem."

"What sort of problem?"

"Come over, and I'll show you."

"Sounds intriguing. I'll come over now."

"That's one word for it, I suppose. I'll put the kettle on."

.

"Well?" said Heather over a cup of tea, half an hour later. "Come on, spill the beans."

"You haven't seen Simon for a while have you?" said Julia. "Come into the sitting room." She gestured out of the window to where he was once again splitting logs. Although the weather was cold, he had stripped down to a t-shirt.

"Oh Julia, I see what you mean. A very nice problem though."

"Just wait a minute," said Julia grimly. "You don't know the half of it." Simon paused for a moment brushing a wave of hair away from his face. Feeling their gaze he looked towards the window. And smiled.

"There, you see Heather. Now do you understand?"

Heather was looking faintly stunned. Julia knew exactly how she felt.

"Ouch. You really have got a problem Jules. We'd better sort that date out for you."

"I knew you'd see my point," said Julia with relief.

.

Her computer had not been switched on for several days and there were dozens of spam emails to delete. She stiffened her resolve and registered for the dating website which had the unappealing title of _loveafterfortydotcom_. She wrestled with compiling a profile that didn't make her seem either desperate or unstable, and ended up with something that was, to be blunt, extremely boring. _I wouldn't want to date me,_ she thought, feeling glum. She chose a photograph of herself that was only a couple of years old and flatteringly out of focus, drew a deep breath, and clicked 'submit'.

.

Adam called round unexpectedly, later in the afternoon, as dusk was falling. "I'll be gettin' some Christmas trees at the end o' the week, d'you want one?"

"Oh goodness, I suppose it's December tomorrow. Yes, please! Megan would never forgive me if I didn't get one!"

"How's yer man doing?"

"Come and see," she said. She led him into the back garden. Simon was methodically stacking yet another pile of logs and grinned at Adam. "What do think? Will I do?"

"Aye, yer a handy fella now," said Adam. "I've got a proposition for yer. D'ye fancy a day's work tomorrow? Just labourin'. I only need muscle."

Simon looked delighted. "Will that be alright Julia?"

"Of course it will," she said. "You don't need to ask me. I'm not your mother!"

Next morning Julia was still in bed when she heard Adam's van pull up. A few moments later she heard the door open and close, then it drove off.

.

When Simon came home shortly after dark, although he was dusty and tired, he was giving off an almost palpable, feverish energy. It was quite contagious. The day's exertion had accentuated the sinewy muscles in his arms and shoulders and Julia was overcome by a wave of the most intense sensation of lust and almost unbearable longing she could ever remember having. For a few moments, she couldn't have spoken if her life had depended on it. Fortunately, it did not.

"I had fish and chips for lunch – I mean dinner," he said. "They were really good!"

She pulled herself together. "Haven't you had them before?"

He frowned. "Not sure. Do you think you could make them?"

"I could," she said, "but they never taste the same as the ones from the chippy."

He looked disappointed for a moment, then cheered up. "Adam wants me to work for the rest of the week."

That's great," she said. "He must be pleased with you."

"I think so," he agreed, "yeah."

"Are you all right with that Simon?" she said hesitantly. "You know, just - labouring work."

He looked astonished. "Why ever wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you know. Your accent . . ."

"My accent? I didn't know I had one! Have I?"

"Well, no, not really. That's the point. To be honest you have the accent of someone who's never had to work – not that sort of work anyway."

Simon stared at her. "But I like it," he said. "I really do. Working with the lads, having - what did they call it? The crack?"

"The craic," she said, "yes. Well if you're sure, then I think it's wonderful. I'm so pleased!"

"I am sure," he said. "Very."

.

With Simon out all day, Julia settled back into a routine much like her old one. Long walks with Albie, visits to Laybrook Court, tea and cakes with Isaac. The difference was that Simon came home for his tea and was there in the evenings.

Conversation flagged a bit sometimes. Simon couldn't remember anything, and her own memory was not much better. She didn't think he would be very interested in talking about Megan, which was generally her primary subject of conversation, so once he had told her about his day, and she had done the same, there was not a lot left to say. Usually she settled down with a book, or in front of the television, and Simon whittled away at his pieces of wood. She thought she detected some improvement.

Occasionally, she felt a little uneasy about the cosy domesticity they were settling into, but mainly she liked it very much.

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. As Simon left for work early in the morning and returned after dark even hungrier than usual, she sternly tried to resist the feeling that they were turning into a conventional middle-aged couple. Without the benefits she couldn't admit she might have liked.

When she got round to switching her computer on again, she found to her surprise that several prospective candidates had emailed her for a date. She looked at the messages in her inbox with mixed feelings, and procrastinated.

.

* * *

_**.**_


	7. Thunder and Lightning

**Chapter Seven: Thunder and Lightning**

* * *

On Friday afternoon Simon brought the Christmas tree back from work with him, and reminded of the season, Julia made a start at writing her Christmas cards. Her list was not extensive, and when she had done most of them, she forced herself to think about the neglected emails waiting for her attention.

_How to choose?_ she thought as she considered the replies waiting for a response from her. She weeded out the ones who she suspected were looking for something of a basic, physical and temporary nature, then contemplated those left. Quite honestly none of them excited her. She tried to avoid thinking about what exactly did excite her, but she found herself sometimes secretively watching Simon with the intensity of an adolescent with a painful crush, and hated herself for it. It made her irritable and snappy, and then she disliked herself even more.

After dinner on Saturday she steeled herself, and put her laptop on the floor. "Albie," she called, "come here. You'll have to help me choose." She showed him the pictures of the men who had contacted her. He was resolutely unenthusiastic about all but one, who elicited a faint wag of the tail.

Simon came over to look. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Albie's helping me to choose a date," explained Julia. "I can't make up my mind."

"You're asking _Albie_ to choose a date for you?" he said in disbelief.

"He's an excellent judge of character," said Julia, stung. "You don't think I'd have let you in if he hadn't thought you were all right do you?"

He shook his head in amusement and went back to his whittling. She gave him a sour look.

"This one it is then." She clicked on 'reply'. A couple of hours later, Julia had arranged to meet an accountant called Graham at a wine bar in town on the Sunday evening of the following weekend. She felt a sense of relief.

For the next week, Simon was working for Adam again, and Julia finished writing her cards and delivered most of them by hand. It struck her, oddly enough for the first time, that all her friends lived close by. She had none from the time before she had come to the cottage. It was strange, but when she started to think about it, her neck itched and her head felt tight. Her thoughts drifted away to unrelated subjects and she found herself giving the oven its pre-Christmas clean, which did nothing to improve her mood.

As she was serving up their meal on Wednesday evening, there was a rattle at the letterbox. When she went to investigate, she found a letter on the mat by the front door. Delighted, she picked it up, knowing it was from Megan. She had no idea how the letters from Hogwarts were delivered; they always arrived at odd times although she had never seen anyone approach or leave the cottage and Albie never barked. She put it on the table in front of her while she ate, and realised it was the first one she had had since before Halloween.

"Aren't you going to open it?" said Simon.

"Of course I am. I'm saving it."

After they had eaten, she left Simon doing the washing up, took the letter into the living room, curled up on the sofa, and opened it.

Megan was having a marvellous time and loving her lessons, mostly. She was not too keen on History of Magic but was enjoying Transfiguration and had learnt how to turn a shoelace into an earthworm although it had still had a bit of plastic at the end. She had watched a Quidditch match but had been cold and found it boring, and she had a new best friend called Sarah. She really, _really_ wanted a telescope of her own, and would like money for Christmas instead of a present, so that she could save up for one.

Julia had to read the last part a couple of times to be sure she understood. A _telescope_? She blinked hard; her vision kept going out of focus.

.

Simon came in, bringing her a drink.

She was surprised and touched. "Oh, Simon, that is so kind, thank you."

He put the mug down beside her. "Hey," he said, kneeling before her. "Are you crying?" He brushed his index finger over her cheek. "Oh Julia, she's coming home for Christmas isn't she? That's not far off."

"I know, I know, but I miss her so much, Simon. "For a second, she thought he was going to take her in his arms and heaven help her, she wanted him to, she did. But the moment passed.

Instead, he patted her knee awkwardly, and said, "Cheer up!"

.

The weekend came, and as it drew to a close, Julia contemplated what to wear for her date. It was not an issue she thought about very often and her options were rather limited.

She took a dress out of her wardrobe. She had bought it a few months before, under some pressure from her daughter. It had never been worn and still carried its price tag. She put it on and looked in the mirror with satisfaction. It was a lovely shade of blue, she thought, and a flattering shape. It would do. Definitely. Later on, she tried to do something complicated with her hair but failed miserably, and in defeat, twisted it up at the top of her head hoping it looked intentionally messy. She applied a touch of eye make-up and a dab of perfume. She wore it so seldom it made her face itch. She put on some silly high heeled shoes which made her wobble a bit until she got used to them, and tottered downstairs.

Simon's eyes darkened. He didn't say anything, but she could tell he liked it. She felt ridiculously pleased. She wanted to stay at home. Wanted him to keep looking at her like that.

The taxi pulled up outside and beeped its horn.

She pulled herself together. "Well then," she said, "wish me luck!"

"Yeah," he said. "Good luck." She thought he seemed a bit flat.

.

Graham was very nice, really he was. If there was a plump softness to his clean shaven chin or about his middle, carefully camouflaged with a fashionably untucked shirt, she thought she was probably being just a bit fussy. She tried not to think that his hands were a little too well-manicured and smooth or his hair rather carefully arranged to disguise a receding hairline, or that his eyes were a slightly dull colour, or that his voice lacked a particular rough quality she had grown to enjoy hearing.

In the trendy wine bar, where the furniture was all faux suede, chrome and glass, and the walls were tiled with mirrors so that everywhere she looked she saw herself, she ordered a large glass of Merlot and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

It was something she had noticed before about accountants. They always seemed to be very keen on their work. She could not deny that she was a little relieved, not to mention tipsy, when the evening was over and they waited together for her taxi to arrive.

Graham tentatively pulled her close and kissed her. Interested, she softened her lips receptively and the kiss deepened. Julia felt detached. There was nothing wrong with it exactly, but that elusive melting feeling she craved was missing, and after a few seconds she had had enough. She pulled away.

"I'm so sorry, Graham," she said. "It's not working is it? The chemistry just isn't there."

"It could be," he said. "Give it time, we could be good together."

"No, I don't think so. I'm really sorry."

.

When she got home, Simon was at the kitchen table.

"You haven't been waiting up for me?"

He looked troubled. "I wasn't tired."

He had been whittling again. She looked at the wood shavings that littered the table and floor with annoyance. "What a bloody mess!"

"I'll clear it up, don't worry," he said. "How was your evening?"

She felt irritable and dizzy. Recklessly, she took a bottle of wine from the rack, uncorked it and poured herself a generous glass. "Want one?"

"No, I think I'll give it a miss," he said. She swallowed half the glass.

"Steady on," he said, "take it easy, Julia.

"What's wrong with me?" she complained. "He was a perfectly nice man. Why didn't it work? This is your damn fault!"

He looked upset. "Have I done something to offend you? I'm sorry if I have. I didn't mean to. I'd never upset you on purpose, you know that don't you? I'm very grateful to you. I know how much you've done for me."

"Bloody gratitude!" she grated. "You think I want your _gratitude_? Christ!"

"I've outstayed my welcome," he said. "I've been thinking. It's Christmas soon and your daughter will be home. You'll want your house back. It's time for me to move on."

She felt cold. "Move on! Where to?"

He shrugged. "I might have more initiative than you give me credit for. I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself. Adam told me about a hostel."

"A hostel! _A bloody hostel!"_ she cried. "If I wasn't drunk Si, I wouldn't say this. Bloody hell! I don't want you to go, do I? _That's_ the bloody trouble!" She looked at him unhappily, and drained her glass. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

.

A couple of hours later she was woken from a heavy, alcohol-sodden slumber by a violent bang of thunder and a dazzling flash of lightning. The rain beat in irregular spatters against her window. She drifted back into a miserably hung-over doze until there was a deafening crash somewhere on the roof.

She fell out of bed and heaved herself queasily upright, pulling her dressing gown on. It was inside out, but she couldn't summon the energy to do anything about it. The stairs seemed steeper and harder to navigate than usual.

Downstairs, the kitchen light was on and Simon was up. He was wet and had obviously been outside.

"What the hell was that?" she asked, wincing at the sound of her own voice.

"Your chimney has been struck by lightning."

She flopped into a chair. "You are kidding?"

"No I'm not, but I don't think there's too much damage. Nothing that won't wait till morning anyway. You look awful."

"I think I might be sick," she said.

"Don't do it in here."

"It's my house. I'll be sick wherever I damn well please."

"Fair enough," he smirked.

"I feel as if something crawled into my mouth and died." She stuck her tongue out.

"Disgusting," he agreed, "it looks like that too."

"Sod off." she said. "I've got a vile headache. I'm going back to bed."

.

By the time it was light, she was feeling hardly any better. She forced herself out of bed and tiptoed unsteadily to the phone. "George?" she whispered.

"Hello? _Hello?_ You'll have to speak up! Is that you, Julia?"

"Ow," she whimpered, holding the receiver away from her ear. "You'll never believe it, but my chimney was struck by lightning during the night!"

"Lightning? Never! I didn't even know we'd had a storm!"

"Didn't you hear it? It didn't last long, but it was pretty violent. Anyway, I was wondering if you know someone who could come and take a look at it for me? It's pretty badly damaged but I think the roof has escaped fairly unscathed apart from a few slates."

"I'll bring our George over," he said. "He's a good lad. Been well trained."

.

The two Georges arrived in a tidy van an hour or so later and unloaded their ladders.

"Yer lookin' a bit peaky this mornin' Julia, if you don't mind me sayin'. 'eavy night?"

"Er, in a way."

"Prairie Oyster's what you want."

"What?"

"Prairie Oyster, y' know. Whole raw egg. Worcester Sauce, dash o' Tabasco; down in one. Bob's yer uncle!"

She looked at him in horror. "You must be joking! That has to be the product of a deranged mind!"

Old George introduced his son.

"Pleased to meet you Miz Fenwick," said Young George who was, in fact, about Julia's own age, in his mid-forties.

"Call me Julia, please," she said shaking his hand gingerly. "I'll have some tea waiting for you when you come down."

.

Julia made a point of avoiding Simon for as long as she could. When she did encounter him, she was almost sure he was wearing an expression of faint sympathy mingled with thinly disguised amusement. In fact, she thought bitterly, he looked rather smug. At one point, she even thought she heard him whistling. _Whistling!_

She ignored him, and eventually he took Albie out for a walk. Julia thought they would probably be gone for ages and she was relieved. He hadn't mentioned the previous evening, but just thinking about it made her burn with embarrassment.

.

A couple of hours later, the two Georges came down and drank their tea as they packed their tools into the van. Old George came to the back door. He was holding the twisted remains of the bronze dog. "It's made a mess o' this," he said. "Not much point leaving it up there. But 'ave a look at what we found bricked up in your chimney." He was holding a dirty package.

"Come in, let's take a look. Let me put some newspaper on the table, and it can go on there."

George put the thing down on the paper. It was a parcel of some sort. Julia thought it was wrapped in leather which had become stiff and brittle with age. It cracked and began to crumble as she opened it. There were two objects inside.

"Oh look, a child's shoe!" she said. "I've heard of these. It was some sort of charm against witchcraft. This is really old. Do you think it was put there when the cottage was built?"

"Wouldn't be surprised," he said.

"What's this?" she said picking up the other object which was a thin carved wooden stick about a foot long. "I'm sure I've seen something like this recently. Now, where was it?"

"No idea. Never seen anythin' like it."

She held it up. "I wonder what those carvings mean?" They seemed familiar; but then many things did. "I'll take these over to Isaac's later, and let him take a look."

"We've made it all safe for now," said George, "and fixed the slates so you won't have any leaks. We'll pop back tomorrow to finish off."

"Thanks so much, I appreciate you coming out so quickly. See you tomorrow." She shut the door behind him and went back into the kitchen.

While she was seeing them off, Simon had returned. He was standing by the table, staring at the wooden stick. He reached for it but stayed his hand for a moment as if thinking. Then he took hold of it. The back of Julia's neck prickled sharply, and at that moment, for a split second, the little shoe suddenly glowed bright green.

"Did you see that? Julia said in astonishment, reaching out. "It glowed!"

"_Julia, no! Don't touch it!"_ shouted Simon. But he was too late.

.


	8. Under the Hill

**Chapter Eight: Under the Hill**

* * *

Julia landed on her knees with a sickening crunch, but before her mind could process the pain of the impact, she was violently expelling the contents of her stomach into the darkness before her.

She had always expected that dying would be a peaceful process, not a traumatic nightmare of shattering nausea. She crouched, helplessly shaking and retching, until she gradually became aware of a soft, pale light, a calm voice and a cool hand on her clammy brow.

"Here," it said, "drink."

"Can't!" she gasped, still heaving.

"You can," said the voice. Someone pulled her up into a sitting position and put something to her lips, tipping in a cool liquid. Automatically, she swallowed, and the sickness started to abate. She took the little handleless wooden cup that was being held before her and swigged the contents down. It tasted like nothing on earth; not sweet exactly, but restorative, life giving.

"Am I dead?" she asked. She patted herself, wondering if she still had a body. Her knees were very sore, so she concluded that she did.

"You are not," said the voice. "Your time will come, but it is not yet."

"Can I have some more of that stuff please?"

"No, you cannot. More than a very little is poison to mankind."

The soft light intensified. At last she was able to look around, and began to make out her surroundings. She was in a spacious chamber that reminded her more than anything of the inside of a small church, although there were no windows and she could not identify the source of the light. The ceiling was arched and the walls were bare stone of a warm, sandy red. It looked as if it had been carved out of the solid rock, not built from blocks of stone. The floor she was sitting on was strewn with plant material; leaves, grasses and flowers. She recognised the tiny white stars of sweet woodruff, although it was December. It scented the air like a summer meadow.

"I know what this is," she said. "I've been hit on the head. I'm in a coma or intensive care. Maybe I'm having brain surgery or something. You're a nurse that my imagination is imposing a fantasy scenario on. You're a Near Death Experience."

"I have existed for many more years than you can comprehend," said the voice, "and I have been given many names. But never before, I think, that."

She identified the owner of the voice as a man. No, not a man, a boy. Perhaps even a woman - the voice was oddly genderless. The person was slight of build, and probably even shorter than her, smooth skinned and light haired with eyes of a peculiar pale green. He - or she - was barefoot and dressed in a simple brown jerkin and britches. At first she had thought him or her very young - barely a teenager. But something told her that despite appearances, they were older. Much older.

"Well, if you're not a near death experience, who on earth are you?"

"Who am I? Now there is a question. Jack in the Green mayhap? Some call me Gobbet, you may call me Rob."

_Male then_, she thought, feeling that she was getting somewhere, although she had no idea where that might be.

"Nice to meet you, Rob," she said with a politeness born of habit. "Erm, if I'm not dead or dying and I'm not in hospital, where am I, and what am I doing here?"

"All in good time," he said. "You are under Lay Hill. But for the rest of thy questions, you must meet My Lady. Come."

He urged her up and she stood, painfully. He took her hand in his rather cold one and led her down the centre of the arched chamber to the far end, where someone was sitting on what Julia could only think of as a throne made of branches. It was worked and carved into the likeness of beasts and human figures, but made of living wood, sprouting with buds and leaves.

The person seated there was a woman, without question, but unlike any woman Julia had ever seen. There was an aura of formidable power about her. She had straight, coal-black hair, so long that it that hung below her waist. On her head rested a simple gold circlet and she wore a robe of a silvery, iridescent material. Her eyes were so dark, they appeared black, and she was perfectly beautiful but at the same time, oddly lifeless. And though her pale skin was smooth and unlined, and there was no trace of grey in her hair, Julia sensed immense age.

The woman observed her in silence for a time. Then in a low voice as ancient and powerful as the wind, she spoke.

"Do you know who I am?"

Julia shook her head, bemused. "No, sorry. Should I?"

"I have many names and none. Among Men I am sometimes called Mab. It was you who made the call. You who caused the gate to be opened."

Julia was indignant. "I haven't done anything!"

"Come here."

Nervously, Julia approached and stood fidgeting before the throne. She wondered whether to curtsy but wasn't sure she knew how.

"Thou art not of the Family. And yet . . ." The woman paused. "And yet thou art connected by blood. 'Tis strange, for you live in the family's house do you not?"

"Do I?"

"Thou livest in the house whereon is the sign of the running dog?"

"Did you have something to do with that? It's not there any more!"

"It has served its purpose," said Mab dismissively. "You have summoned one from beyond the veil. You have caused the fabric to tear. The gate to be opened."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" said Julia defensively. "You must believe me! I'm just ordinary. I haven't summoned anyone!"

Mab looked at her, unmoved. "Art sure, ordinary woman? Search thy heart and thy memory. Hast made no calls, issued no pleas to the lost?"

Julia suddenly felt chilled. "Oh good heavens! The Widow's Plea."

"You men and women," said Mab with scorn. "Always and forever playing with things you do not understand. Calling upon powers you have no knowledge of and cannot control. Such damage you do and leave for others to repair after you."

She stood up and stepped forward. She was very tall, and Julia had to look up at her.

She took Julia's chin in her cold hand and looked into her eyes.

"Ah, now I understand. Your memories have been tampered with. You have not magic though you have known it. You memories are hidden, yes, but not taken. There is old grief still fresh and yet to be endured before you find peace. But find it you shall. The gate has been left unsealed. The soulless shadows are approaching, drawn to the scent of life beyond. Only he who passed through and left it open can close the way. You must find him and you must return here with him."

"Who? I don't know what you mean! How will I find him? And how do I return with him?"

"Use the thunderbolt," said Mab. "The one who left the gate ajar will know. Do you understand me? You must take pains to mitigate the damage you have done." She lifted her arm, beckoning. "Robin, return this woman to her own place."

.

Julia shook her head as if she was waking up. What on earth had just happened? Where was she? Disoriented, she looked about. She was on the side of Lay Hill near the huge old stones that lay half hidden among the brambles - only a few hundred yards from her home. And she was freezing cold. Something moved in the distance beyond the next hedge.

For a moment she thought that there were two dogs running towards her, but then she realised it was, in fact, a dog and a man. Albie and Simon. How on earth could she have mistaken Simon for a dog? Her thoughts were fuzzy, her mind felt thick.

They were at her side in a minute, Albie eagerly pushing his nose into her hand. Simon pulled his padded shirt off and put it over her shoulders, keeping his arm round her, pulling her close for a precious moment. "Merlin's beard, Julia, I'm glad to see you! Where were you? Do you know how long you've been gone?"

She looked at him, not understanding. "A couple of hours, I suppose?"

"Twenty four hours," he said. "You've been gone a day. I didn't know what to do. I had to tell George you'd gone shopping."

"A whole day? You're joking!" She looked at him and saw that he was not.

"Where have you been?"

"I . . . er"- she looked back at the hill. She couldn't remember clearly. "I don't . . . In the hill? I must have been dreaming. I fell down, and there was a woman. Sort of. And someone else. I was sick. Really, really sick, it was awful, and someone gave me something to drink, and I felt better and . . . I'm so tired, Simon. I . . . I'm sorry, I can't"- Her eyes were rolling back and closing involuntarily.

"You're half asleep. Come on." He heaved her up into his arms.

"Simon, no!" she moaned. "You can't carry me all that way!"

"Can't I?" he said. "We'll see." And he did too, while Julia dozed against the broad, solid safety of his chest. She half-thought she felt him drop a light kiss on her forehead as he put her down by the back door. He helped her inside and she dropped wearily into a chair.

"Don't try and talk now," he said. "You're chilled to the bone and exhausted. Let's get you warm."

He gave her a cup of hot soup. Half-asleep, she wondered how he had managed it so fast.

"Drink this, then have a rest. I'm going out for a bit. I'll take Albie with me."

"Oh. Out? On your own?"

"Yes. Out. On my own."

"Where are you going?"

"I thought I would call and see John. Do I have to ask for permission?"

"Of course not! Sorry."

There was something different about Simon. He seemed sure of himself, more confident. Assertive. She was too tired to think about it and yawned. She had a very hot shower, then went to bed and fell asleep for several hours.

It was dark when she was woken by a soft knocking on her bedroom door. Groggily, she looked at her alarm clock. Ten o' clock she saw with a shock.

"Julia?"

"Urgh. Yeah, come in," she grunted, switching on her lamp. Simon came in with a mug of tea. "Oh!" she said, surprised. "Thanks!"

"I've woken you, sorry. We need to have a talk."

"Yes, I suppose," she agreed, and became aware that her sleepwear of choice had been an ancient, outsized green and orange rugby shirt she had bought at the village jumble sale. It had an extensive rip under the arm, and she was not, she felt, looking her best. She pulled her duvet up to her chin.

"I'll come down in a few minutes," she said. "Just let me drink this."

.

She put her dressing gown on and went downstairs. Simon was sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for her.

"Here, sit down," he said, patting a chair seat. "Can you try and remember what happened earlier? It's important."

"It was just a weird dream," she said. "It can't have been anything else." She rubbed her sore knees.

"Are you in pain?" he asked.

"Oh, I fell, I think. Just a bit bruised."

He put something on the table in front of him. It was the carved stick that George had found in the chimney. She sat down and looked at it, unwilling to touch it now. "I remember where I've seen one of these before. I had to buy one for Megan a few weeks ago. You're a wizard. Aren't you?"

"Megan," he said. His voice was quiet. "Tell me about her?"

"I miss her, Simon. So much. I can't wait till she comes home. She's beautiful. She sees things – just – differently to everyone else. Here," she got up and fetched the photograph from the windowsill, and handed it to him. She barely registered the haunted expression that crossed his face. "It's the oddest thing you know. Your eyes are just the same colour as hers. Such an unusual shade too. I wonder if that's why . . ." She tailed off. She thought his hand shook a little. Probably it was her imagination.

"Why what?"

"Oh, nothing."

His expression was tense. "Julia, I need to know what happened when you disappeared yesterday. The shoe was a portkey."

"A . . . portkey? I don't know about that. It made me very sick. I was – somewhere else. Inside the hill, they said."

"They?"

There was a lady. And someone else. Rob, he said he was called, but the lady called him Robin. She said I've got to go back. But I've got to find someone, and I don't know how. Or who. The lady under the hill. She said I needed to bring the one who has returned, to close the gate. She said – she said the soulless shadows would come if the gate was not sealed."

"Oh, Merlin." He raked his hands through his hair. "It's me she needs. You still look worn out. Go back to bed. We'll sort this out in the morning."

.

.

She was up early, but still not earlier than Simon.

He was anxious and preoccupied. "How are your knees? Are they still sore?"

"Yes, a bit," she said, understating the fact that they were very badly bruised and extremely painful.

"Will you let me – help?"

"Help? How?"

"I can fix them for you. If you'll let me."

"Oh. Well, I suppose."

"Roll your jeans up, let me see."

She felt rather self-conscious as she did so. She winced as she looked at the angry bruises that were developing. Simon looked horrified and touched them gently. In spite of the discomfort, she felt his touch somewhere else altogether, and tried not to wriggle in her seat.

"Oh Merlin, Julia. I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry? It's not your fault, Simon, don't be silly!"

"You'll have to let this happen, Julia. Don't fight it. If you fight, it won't work."

"All right," she said apprehensively.

He lifted his wand and flicked it muttering something under his breath. The joints of her knees were suddenly burning hot for a second, then the sensation faded and the aching started to recede. She looked in amazement. The redness and swelling was already going down.

"You'll be back to normal in a few hours."

"That's marvellous!" she said. "Thank you!"

"Don't," he said. "Don't thank me. Now, did the lady in the hill tell you how we were to get back there?"

"Oh! Yes she did. But I don't know what she meant. She said to use the thunderbolt. And that you would know what to do?"

"Thunderbolt?" He looked perplexed. "I don't know what that means."

"No? What are we going to do then?" She looked at him for a while. "Do you know, I think I'll go and ask Isaac. I really can't think where else to go."

.

* * *

.

She found Isaac outside in his garden, pruning his apple tree.

"This is an unexpected pleasure, Julia! What brings you here so early?"

She considered how to bring the subject around to what she needed without sounding quite mad. In the end she decided that it was not possible, and without beating about the bush she came right out with the question. "Isaac, if someone told you to use a thunderbolt for something, what would you think they meant?"

"A thunderbolt? You mean, a thunderbolt as in an actual object?"

"Well, I think so, yes."

He raised his eyebrows. "I've got one here," he said, "and I happen to know you've got one too."

"Really, Isaac?"

"Come inside."

In his sitting room, he picked an object up from his cluttered mantelpiece and handed it to her.

"A stone axe-head?"

"There have always been myths associated with these," he said. "In the old days people thought that they came down in thunderstorms so they were often called thunderbolts or thunder stones. Is that what you wanted to know?"

"It is! You're a genius!" She gave him a kiss. "I've got to dash. I'll see you soon!"

.

.


	9. Watchers of the Gates

**Chapter Nine: Watchers of the Gates**

* * *

.

Julia took Simon's hand and led him to the little cabinet in the corner of her sitting room. "I know what it is - the thunderbolt!" She opened the door and picked up the smooth stone axe.

For a moment, she paused, respectful of the skilled artisan who had shaped its utilitarian beauty so long ago, then she handed it over. Simon took it absent-mindedly, looking beyond, at something else. "Julia, what's that?"

"This?" She picked up the little gold serpent-ring. "Adam found it, metal detecting in the Lower Field about three years ago. Lovely isn't it?"

He held it in the palm of his hand for a few seconds, his expression inscrutable. Then he gave it back to her, muttering under his breath, "Bloody things get everywhere."

Julia was not paying attention. "The thunderbolt," she said. "Do you know what to do with it?"

He rubbed it with his thumb. "Yes," he said. "It needs to go back where it came from."

"And do you know how to get it back?"

"It's another portkey. I just need to activate it."

"There's another problem you know," Julia pointed out. "We don't know how long we'll be. I thought I was only gone for a couple of hours but it was a whole day."

"I don't know how that works," he said. "There are stories you know. About people going to other . . . places . . . and coming back years later."

"Years?" Julia was horrified. "Bloody hell, Simon! And how do you know there are stories? You've remembered something haven't you?"

"Maybe," he said, dismissively. "We haven't got time to discuss that at the moment. This is more pressing. We should go now. No-one will miss you tonight, and no-one will miss me at all."

"What about Albie?"

"We'll take him out on the hill with us. I'll ask him to wait."

"You'll do _what_? I know he's a smart dog, but really!"

"Trust me, Julia," he said. And for some reason, she came out all over in goose pimples when he said it. She looked at her mobile phone, mentally noting the time and date. Then she put it down on the table and checked everything in the cottage was switched off that needed to be. As if she was just going out to the shops.

Simon was already outside with Albie, waiting for her as she shrugged her coat on and locked the door behind her. They walked out on to the side of the hill and stopped under a vast, bare oak tree below the great stones. Simon held the thunderbolt out towards her. His breath misted in the air as he spoke. "Hold this with me."

Her anxiety must have shown on her face. Simon stroked her cheek with his knuckle and tipped her face up. "I'll take care of you, Julia. I promise. Don't fight it"

She sucked in a deep breath and took one end of the stone axe in her fingertips. He touched it with his wand.

* * *

.

She landed heavily and stumbled. Simon had his arm around her, strong and warm. She leaned against him in the darkness, gulping her way through a wave of nausea.

"Shh, I've got you, love. Are you going to be sick?"

She swallowed. "I don't think so. Not this time. I must be getting used to it."

"Perhaps you are," he said.

The darkness began to dissipate into the distinctive pale light. She recognised the arched chamber again and Rob, coming towards them from the dim recesses beyond. "Come," he said, beckoning. Julia took Simon's hand and they followed Rob towards the throne at the end of the chamber where Mab was silently watching their approach.

"I've brought him back," said Julia. The one you want. Simon."

Mab stood up and moved towards them. Simon stepped in front of Julia.

Mab stood before him, as tall as he was. She took his chin in her hand and looked into his eyes. "Simon? In faith, I think not. A dark star rather. But of the Family, of a certainty."

He looked back at her boldly.

She gave him an enigmatic smile that made Julia itch to slap her. "Man, thou art one I could keep by me. It is a great time since I took a human consort. You have had no home for . . . is it twelve years? Or twelve hundred?"

Julia was not a little disturbed to notice that Mab's silvery gown seemed to have become diaphanous and translucent. The dark areolae of her breasts and a faint shadow below her belly were visible, and Simon's gaze was drawn inexorably lower. He wore an expression of beguilement and a flush of colour was on his cheeks. His breathing had become quick and shallow.

Mab slid her pale hand to the back of his head. Julia thought she was about to pull Simon's head to her and kiss him.

"Simon!" Julia's tone was sharp.

He started, and blinked, then his jaw tightened. "My home is not here, My Lady. And anyway, I'm spoken for."

Mab's dress was once again opaque. "Alas, poor me." She looked at Julia. Her voice held a trace of irony. "Most fortunate indeed then, oh ordinary woman."

Julia was bemused.

Mab turned to Simon. "You know why you are here?"

"Tell me."

"We are the watchers over the gates. You know of us?

To Julia's astonishment, Simon briefly nodded assent.

"Gates!" she exclaimed. "You mean there are more?"

"There are many gates," said Mab. "Some remembered, others forgotten. This is the only one you need have concern for." She addressed Simon again. "You were in the darkness beyond the veil were you not? Your corporeal-self had not separated from your soul as it should have in the natural order of things. So you were trapped in the in-between. But you followed this woman's call and returned. Such things do not happen without consequences. Rifts in the fabric of the veil do not repair by themselves. The shadowy ones are following. For the moment they are contained; they do not see where to go, but at the time when next the curtain shifts, if the gate is not sealed they will pass into the world of men. You understand what I am saying?

Simon looked grim. "I do."

"As the solstice approaches, the shadows are drawn ever closer to the gate. You must be ready for them. At the very moment they begin their passage into the light, you must return them to the darkness and close the way. Upon the very instant of the solstice it must be, or you will not have the power to halt their progress. Understand me, Star-Man. It must be at the moment the first light of mid-winter touches the gate!"

.

.

And then Julia and Simon were back on the side of the hill by the stones, and Albie was running towards them, barking in excitement.

.

The phone was ringing as they went into the cottage and Julia rushed to answer it. It was Heather. "I've been trying to get you all day," she said, "have you been out?" Fortunately, she didn't wait for an answer. "I thought I'd pop by with your card and pick up that Christmas cake, if you're in now? I'll be over in half an hour. Get the kettle on."

Simon opened a tin of dog food for Albie.

"Poor old lad," said Julia, "he must be starving!"

"He's all right," said Simon. "He caught a rabbit."

"He what? How the hell do you know that?"

"He told me, how do you think?"

"You're mad," she said. "Barking mad. Albie never actually catches anything." She checked her mobile phone. "It's the eighteenth," she said. "Half past two. We've been gone about – what? Thirty hours? Just over a day anyway." She retrieved one of the dark, fragrant Christmas cakes from the larder, drizzled some brandy over it and wrapped it up.

.

"I haven't had a chance to ice it I'm afraid," she said to Heather.

"Not to worry, we like it plain. When's Megan back?"

"Monday. I'll go down on the train to meet her. I can't wait! I'm having a bit of a party on Boxing Day. The usual sort of thing, you know. Will you come?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world! I'll have to get off now. See you then, if not before!"

.

Through the window, Julia saw Heather and Simon talking on the garden path. Heather looked back towards the cottage for a moment, her brow furrowed, then nodded decisively, smiled at Simon and stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss on the cheek. Simon pulled her into a hug. Julia was surprised and wondered what they had been discussing. Her?

He came indoors bringing a basket of logs with him. He put it down on the floor and looked at her, speculatively. "Can I take you out tonight?"

She was taken aback. "Out?"

"Just to the pub. On a . . . a date, I suppose? Adam's been paying me for helping him. I think I've got enough to buy you a drink?" He pulled several notes out of his pocket. "Is that enough?"

"Yes. Yes it's plenty. Oh, go on then, I'd love to go out with you!"

"Will you – will you wear that dress again? It really suits you."

She grew warm with pleasure.

As she got ready, she felt stupidly excited. _Like a besotted schoolgirl, _she thought, trying to suppress the feeling. With regret, she decided the silly shoes would not be a good idea if they were walking to the pub, and settled for something slightly more sensible. When she went into the kitchen, Simon's harsh face softened into the devastating smile that rendered her temporarily incapable of sensible thought.

"You do scrub up very well," he said.

.

They ambled into the village. It was drizzling, so Julia walked under her umbrella. She offered to share it with Simon but he declined, not seeming to mind the damp.

The pub was warm and busy, the bar decorated with holly and ivy. A fire was burning bright at one end of the room, and at the other end, a slightly incongruous artificial Christmas tree was a headache of flashing, coloured LED lights. A buzz of conversation hovered in the air.

A few people turned to look curiously, then someone called, "Hey Si, good to see you mate! Julia! What are you drinking?" It was Adam.

They ordered pints of Staffordshire Gold and Simon flirted outrageously with the appreciative landlady. "You've just missed Isaac," she said to Julia. "He said he had to get off early to deliver his cards."

"That's a shame. I wanted you to meet him," Julia said to Simon.

They sat side by side on a long wooden settle, slightly squashed together. Julia was pleased. If the pub had not been so busy there would have been no excuse to be so close to him. His arm was stretched out behind her on the back of the settle, and now and again the tips of his fingers brushed her bare shoulder sending tingles directly to her middle. She could not work out if it was accidental or if he was doing it deliberately, but hoped it was the latter.

When they left the pub, Simon put his arm around Julia's shoulders and she cautiously put her own arm behind his back and hooked her thumb into one of the belt loops on his waistband. It seemed very natural to walk together like that, and she would have liked her cottage to have been a bit further away.

Just inside the back door, she found a small package wrapped in newspaper with a Christmas card on top. She opened the card. "Oh it's from Isaac! We missed him again." She unfolded the paper. "This must be off his apple tree. Look Si, mistletoe!"

Laughing, she held it above her head and stood up on tiptoe to kiss him on the lips. When she felt him draw away she thought she had made a horrible and embarrassing mistake, then he exhaled in a rush and pulled her close.

"Oh Merlin, Julia!"

She dropped the mistletoe, put her hands behind his head and pulled him down to her. She opened her mouth a little, and tentatively pushed her tongue between his lips. A growl rumbled deep in his throat. She tasted the inside of his mouth with delight, and his tongue moved against hers, slipping into her mouth. She was lost in the pleasure of him. He was tender with her, and slow, and the seconds stretched with desire.

"It's been so long," she whispered without thinking, tipping her head back as he traced her throat with his tongue and nipped her with his sharp teeth.

"So long," he agreed, his voice hoarse. Her hands were under his tee shirt, slipping over his warm skin; the hard lines of his ribs where she felt his heart beating fast beneath; the bumpy surface of the scar on his side.

His strong hands cupped her bottom, pulling her close to where she wanted to be and the rough skin of his palms caught on the slippery material of her dress. "_Whenas in silks my Julia goes,"_ he murmured against her neck. _"Then, then methinks, __how sweetly flows, the liquefaction of her clothes." _His fingers were under the thin straps of her dress, slipping them down her arms._ "Display thy breasts, my Julia, there let me, behold that circummortal purity -"_

"Oh Simon . . . please!" she wailed.

Simon's groan was nearly a howl of frustration. "Ahhh, Merlin!" He tensed and drew away from her breathing heavily. "Julia, I can't. You don't know who I am. It wouldn't be right."

Julia was suddenly scared. "What do you mean?" she said in a small voice. "Your memory is back isn't it? And you didn't tell me. Who are you?"

He leaned his head on hers and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently.

"It's too late now. We'll do it in the morning." He kissed her forehead. "Sleep well, Julia."

"What – what? _Simon_!"- But he was gone.

Confused and frustrated, Julia was unable to sleep. Eventually she got up and went downstairs to challenge him, but he was not in the house and nor was Albie. Disgusted, she went back to bed.

It was light before she heard him return, and when she had dragged on a pair of jeans and a sweater, she went down to confront him.

.

.


	10. Remembering

**Chapter Ten: Remembering**

* * *

It was early, and still dark outside. Julia folded her arms and looked at Simon suspiciously. "Well?"

"Shall we have a cup of tea first?" he said.

"No. don't prevaricate."

He sighed. Julia thought he was nervous. "What is it?" she said. "You can tell me."

"Sit down." He pulled a chair out from the table and sat opposite her, putting his hand across towards her. She took it happily, enjoying the strength of him, the hardness of his palm. She rubbed it with her thumb.

"Julia, my name isn't Simon. It's Sirius."

"Sirius . . . ? That's a beautiful name," she said, smiling at him.

He swallowed. "This is going to be so hard on you. I'm sorry, sweetheart. If I could do this any other way, I would. Don't let go of my hand, please." He raised his wand.

.

The first thing she remembered was how ill it made her feel when someone performed magic on her. Then she remembered Sirius was dead.

She looked at him, at first with incomprehension, then with horror, and then fury. She wrenched her hand out of his, stumbling out of her chair and backing away. "_You're dead!"_ she screamed. "_They told me you were dead!_ You're not bloody well dead at all! Where have you been? Twelve years! _Where have you been?_"

"Calm down, Julia," he said with terrible misjudgement.

"_Calm down? Calm! Fucking! Down! You insensitive clod!_ You've known for days haven't you? _Haven't you?"_

Close to hysteria, she fought for control, and looked at him. Looked very hard at this person who she had - she thought - grown to know over the last weeks, only for her to find that, in fact, she already knew him both intimately and yet hardly at all. This man she had been falling in love with, only to find that she had already loved him for years. Her head hurt and she leaned back against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor in bewildered shock.

He knelt in front of her, distressed, his eyes shadowed.

Numb, she studied his handsome face; a face made harsh by a life lived hard yet hardly lived at all and partly lost. Older, yes. But even twelve years ago, he had looked older than his years. And she was older too.

He put his hand out to her. "Let's not argue. Not now. Please, Julia."

She shook her head. "I don't know who I am. I don't know anything any more. I – I've got to get out. I need to think." She grabbed her coat and stuffed her feet into her boots without bothering to tie the laces. Albie perked up as she opened the door. "You've been in on this haven't you? I know you have. Traitor. Stay here."

She walked out into the damp and murky morning.

.

Twice, she had to retrieve her boots when they had been sucked into the cold, sticky mud as she walked. On the other side of the hill, she sat for hours under the oak tree near the great stones, oblivious to the chill and drizzle. At last she stirred herself, but not feeling ready to go home and face Sirius, she found herself gravitating towards Isaac's cottage.

A soon as he saw her he knew something was seriously wrong. "Come in," he said with concern. "You're soaked. Sit by the fire and get warm. I'll make us a drink."

In silence she watched the flames dancing in the grate. Her coat steamed gently.

He returned with two mugs and handed her one. "Talk to me, Julia. Tell me what's happened."

"I can't," she said. "It's so completely bizarre, you'll think I've gone mad. Hell, I think I've gone mad myself."

"I might not, you know," he said. "Why don't you try me?"

She shook her head. "What would you say if I told you that my pet tramp is actually Megan's father?"

Isaac's reaction was not what she expected. He dropped the cup he was holding, staring at her with what looked like horror; oblivious to the hot tea that was soaking into his hearthrug. "I'd say Merlin's galloping bloody beard! Run that by me again, will you?"

Obediently she said, "His name isn't Simon, it's Sirius, and he's Megan's father."

"Truly, Julia? How can you be sure?"

"I remember," she whispered. "I'd forgotten everything, but he made me remember."

"Merciful heavens," said Isaac, sitting down heavily. "Well I suppose I have to ask how you feel about that. Do you think he'll be good with jars of pickle?"

She gave a watery giggle. "He'll be very good with jars of pickle. But it's not that simple is it? I thought he was dead, and he isn't. So why did he leave us? Where has he been for the last twelve years? The whole of his daughter's life! And why has he come back now?"

Isaac considered. "Those questions might not have simple answers," he said slowly. "Sirius is the only person who can answer them for you. But, Julia – be kind. You had Megan. And wherever he was, I don't think it will have been a good place to be."

Julia looked at him in dismay. She put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, Isaac. Oh, I was horrible to him. I wish - oh hell!"

"You have to go home and talk to him. I have to go somewhere myself, in fact," he said. "To London. I'll be back tomorrow."

"But you never go anywhere!" she said, astonished.

"No," he agreed, "not if I can help it. But something urgent has come up. Sorry, Julia. You'll have to go, I've got to get ready."

Julia felt a little hurt; Isaac had never seemed so keen to be rid of her company before.

As she hurried back over the hill to her cottage, she was met on the way by two huge black dogs. She patted Albie, pulled his ears and rubbed his chest, then she squatted down before the other dog. She held his face in her hands and looked into his silver eyes, stroking under his jaw. His whiskers were grey and there were wisps of white among the black fur now.

"I've missed you, Padfoot, sweetie," she said, and pressed her face into the shaggy, damp fur of his neck for a long time. He licked her ear and wagged his tail, patiently waiting until she had collected herself.

As they made their way home, the daylight was already fading.

.

She took off her damp coat and muddy boots in the kitchen, and towelled her hair. Sirius's hair was damp but he didn't seem to notice. She realised she was starving hungry and started slicing a loaf of bread.

"Julia"–

"Wait," she said. "Let's eat first."

She made toast and scrambled eggs. Without speaking, Sirius made a pot of tea and laid the table.

They ate in silence. Julia was faintly impressed to see that no amount of emotional upheaval seemed to affect his appetite, which appeared to be as insatiable as ever. She remembered that about him too. Methodically, she stacked the dishes in the sink and then finally turned to face him properly.

The air felt strangely still in the little room. "I loved you so much you know," she said. Her voice sounded husky and dry. "I'd never loved anyone like that. Even though I knew you were out of my league."

"Julia!" He put two fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. "For a clever woman you can be amazingly stupid at times. I often thought so."

She gave an unwilling laugh. "When you left me in my little office at the Ministry - do you remember?"

"Every second," his whisper was sharp.

She put her hand in the pocket of her jeans and took out the little metal phoenix that she had carried with her for twelve years. She put it on the table. He picked it up. His lips were pressed tight, the creases that ran down his cheeks were deep furrows.

"When . . ." For a moment she couldn't talk. "When they told me you were dead. It was – it was as if the air was too thick to breathe. Everything was pain. Everything. We had so little time together, you and I. Then you were taken away from me. I never knew something could hurt so much. Then Albus took me back to Grimmauld place. I looked for you - looked for Padfoot - on the stairs. Like the first time. But the staircase was empty. And then he took my memories too."

The tears she had hardly had time to weep twelve years ago ran down her face, unnoticed. She felt that grief again as if it was new.

"Julia-"Sirius's expression was stricken.

"I punched Bellatrix you know, I enjoyed that. I think I broke her nose, but I expect she fixed it without too much trouble. She cursed me."

"Merlin! Julia, no!"

"It made me feel pretty ill, I can tell you."

"Well, it killed me, if that makes you feel any better." The feeble attempt at a joke fell flat.

She rummaged in her pocket for a tissue and blew her nose inelegantly. "No, it doesn't, but start talking. I'm listening. Where the hell have you been for twelve years? And why have you come back now?"

"If I said I didn't know the answer to either of those questions, would you believe me?"

"Try me."

He sat down and put his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his clasped hands. He looked up at her, pensive.

"Where have I been? In cold and darkness, Julia. Beyond the veil. Whatever –wherever - whenever that is. I think Mab explained better than I can."

Julia wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Cold. Dark. For twelve years. It hurt to think about it. She did not know what to say to him.

"I didn't want to leave you, believe me. I don't know exactly what happened, I can only speculate. And I don't know quite how I came back, but I'm glad I did. Whatever happens, I'm glad. Even if you don't want me any more. I'll go away if you want me to. Do you?"

She looked at him incredulously. "_Go?_" Her voice was unsteady. "You've only just bloody well come back!" She went over to the sink, looking blankly at the window. It was too dark to see outside. She picked up her jar of steeping sloes and gave it a gentle shake. There was just a thin white sediment of sugar at the bottom. It would be ready in a couple of weeks.

She took two small glasses and a bottle out of a cupboard. The glasses were old ones she had found in the cottage when she moved in. They were surprisingly heavy for their small size, with a pattern of dimples around them and numerous little bubbles in the glass. She poured the dark liqueur and passed one over to Sirius.

She leaned back against the sink. "Have you ever tried sloe gin?" She held her glass up to the light and admired the red and amber glow inside. "It's the taste of autumn and log fires and frosty mornings." She took a sip and Sirius followed suit.

"No," he said, "I've never had this before, I'd remember. It's sweet but with a sharp edge. Astringent. It's like you, Julia."

They were silent. Julia felt as if she was in a bubble. "What are you going to do now?" she said. "Will you stay here? Or will you go back to your own people?"

Sirius folded his arms and observed her. "If I took myself off down to London and presented myself at the Ministry, do you think they'd welcome me with open arms? Would they – what do you Muggles say? – 'kill the fatted calf' for me? Not likely is it? It would be an administrative nightmare for them. I left everything to Harry in my will. Do I find him and ask for it back? Besides which, Julia, that house is the last place I'd ever go. I've only ever had one real home in my life and I'm looking at her."

"Oh, Sirius." She had a lump in her throat. She went over to him and took his hand. "Come in here," she said, leading him to the sitting room.

She sat at one end of the couch in front of the fire, watching the moving flames. Sirius sat at the other end. She didn't look at him. Their hands met in the middle of the sofa, fingertips just touching. "I'm a bit afraid of you," she said in the general direction of the fireplace.

""Afraid of me, Julia! Why?

"I'm afraid of what's going to happen now. I've been pretty happy for the last twelve years, you know. You said you would take care of us and you did, I'll give you that. But I'm afraid -" She swallowed. "I'm afraid you won't want me any more. I'm not young. I've had a child."

"I'm hardly likely to forget that am I? Julia, I didn't love you just because you had a firm young body you know. However badly things started with us, in the end I loved you because you were sweet and sharp. Astringent. And because you loved me when no-one else did. You did love me didn't you?"

"You stupid, stupid man," she said. "You idiot."

"You see," he said, "I knew you did. I've been alone for a long time, Julia."

She bit her lip. The longing in his voice made her throat hurt. "Oh, Sirius. Isaac said I should be kind. I haven't been kind have I? I'm truly sorry." She leaned back against the arm of the sofa and held her arms out to him. "Come here," she said. "You don't have to be alone any more."

He took a deep, shaky breath and slid over to her. For a few seconds he stayed with his head above hers and they looked at each other. She brushed the long hair away from his face and traced the line on his cheek to the corner of his sensitive mouth. Then with a sigh of relief, he laid his head on her breast and she put her arms around him.

They lay together quietly for a very long time. She stroked his hair and his back and he was still, his breath warm on her skin. "You've got more grey than black in your hair now," she said. "It's totally unfair that it suits you so well." She pushed the strands away from his neck and sniffed deeply. "You smell like my dreams." Delicately she explored the curious tattooed dots with her mouth and nibbled his neck where the biggest was, just under the pulse that beat steady under his ear.

"Canis Major," he whispered.

"Hm?" She drew back to look at him.

"The constellation. Canis Major," he said again. "This is Alpha Canis Majoris. Sirius." He put his finger where her mouth had just been.

"I don't believe it," she said. "It was staring me in the face all along, and I didn't see it."

"Don't stop now," he said hopefully. "That thing you were doing with your teeth."

"I'm . . . not sure, Sirius. Not sure I'm ready. For that."

He groaned quietly, sat up and looked at her. He traced her lips with his thumb and held her hand to his mouth. "I won't push you. When you are ready, let me know. But I . . . well, it's been a very long time. I need to . . . ah, have a shower."

The explicit suggestion almost shocked her, although it should not have. Saliva pooled under her tongue at the thought and she licked her lips. Sirius touched the wet skin on her mouth and grinned.

"Good girl. You haven't forgotten then."

"No, not forgotten, just – a little . . . nervous?"

"You needn't be you know. The bathroom door won't be locked. It's – well, it's up to you now."

Julia sat for some minutes before the fire, watching the flames and thinking. Finally, she finished her drink, smiled in anticipation, and followed him.

.

Some time later, she tried to dry her hair by the fire, but Sirius made such a play of distracting her by tickling her feet, that in a little while, still damp, she lay down on the rug. The soft firelight shone amber on their naked skin. He traced the pale lines on her breasts and the little puckers on her belly with his fingers and his mouth, and she felt warm drips falling on her.

"Sirius," she said quietly, "are you crying?"

"Just a bit," he whispered. She tangled her fingers in his hair and his lips trailed lower.

Later, she took him to her bed, and in the cool sheets she reminded herself of the smell and heat of him, the sound of his breath as it caught in his throat and the salty-sweet taste of him; and she remembered that she had never stopped loving him.

.

* * *

_**A/N;** if you had a mind to read a more explicit version of this chapter, you'll find it over on Ao3. The penname and story title are the same._


	11. Loose Ends and Balance

**Chapter Eleven: Loose Ends and Balance**

* * *

Julia rose late and reluctantly next day leaving Sirius sprawled across the bed. _As if he owns it_, she thought wryly, touching the back of his hand where it dangled over the side of the mattress.

She had just put the kettle on when Albie gave the sharp warning bark he reserved for strangers, and there was a knock at the door. Isaac was there, holding a large book, and he was not alone. With him was another man, smartly dressed in a dark suit and vivid blue tie; brown skinned, white haired and sharp eyed.

She stared in amazement. "Kingsley! What on earth-?"

"Julia," Kingsley inclined his head. "It has been a long time. It's good to see you again. Your memory has been restored." It was not a question.

"You've been keeping an eye on me? All this time?"

"Isaac has, yes."

"Isaac?" Julia turned to him. "You're a _wizard?_"

"I'm a squib, Julia. Can we come in?"

"I'm forgetting my manners." She waved them through into the sitting room. "Would you like some tea?"

"Kingsley needs to see Sirius," said Isaac. "Where is he?"

Julia turned to go upstairs, but Sirius was already standing in the doorway wearing just a pair of loose combat pants, holding his shirt in his hand. She found his physicality as mesmerising as ever and it gave her hot and lustful thoughts. His expression was shuttered.

"Merlin!" breathed Kingsley. "It really is him. This is beyond anything!"

"Kingsley," said Sirius with some reserve.

Kingsley stepped over and took Sirius's chin in his hand, looking hard into his eyes. Sirius scowled. "Merlins beard!" he complained, "I wish people would stop bloody doing that. I'm not a prize cow!"

Kingsley looked amused. "We have much to talk about. Julia, is that offer of tea still open?"

"Of course," she said. She went into the kitchen but left the door wide open. She had no intention of missing anything. When she had switched the kettle on again, she stood in the doorway, observing.

Kinsley sat back in an armchair and clasped his hands in front of his chest. "Before we discuss anything else, Sirius, I have to ask you what your intentions are. Do you have any plans?"

Sirius gave a rough, sardonic laugh. "Don't worry, Kingsley, I have every intention of keeping my head down for the foreseeable future. I'd hate to make life difficult for you!"

Kingsley nodded. "Well, it might be for the best. For the time being at least. I'd appreciate you coming to me first if you change your mind."

"Oh, why is that, Kingsley? Would it be tricky for you to explain my return from the dead?"

Kingsley was sanguine. "It would be a challenge, certainly. But it is my job. I'm sure we'd manage."

"Huh. I'm sure you would."

"So, Sirius, can you tell me how you managed to stage such an impressive . . . comeback? I have heard legends of such things, but never would have believed them to be true. Do you know how this came to happen?"

To Julia's disappointment, Sirius pulled his shirt on and sat down on the arm of the sofa.

"I've been thinking about it for the last couple of days," he said. "I've an idea, though I can't be sure it's right. I believe that if I hadn't fallen through the veil at the moment Bellatrix's curse hit me I'd have died, no question." Absently, he rubbed his chest where the star-shaped scar lay. "I was careless. Sorry," he said, looking at Julia. "But because I did fall though the veil, I – I stayed with my soul – does that make sense? I wasn't dead. I wasn't alive, mind, either. I didn't eat or sleep. I don't know if I breathed or if my heart beat. I wasn't . . . anything. But just – sometimes - I was aware. It could have happened a day before I came here or a thousand years ago - although I know now it was twelve years. There's no time beyond the veil, you know. Or at least, there is, but it can move in any direction. Forwards, backwards, sideways . . . and then there are times when the barriers thin, when the worlds grow very close."

Julia listened, pleased by his low voice. She did not think she had ever heard him speak for so long before.

Sirius continued. "I remember speaking to Harry; he needed me. I – I thought he had passed through the veil. He was able to talk to me and hear me answer. But then he went away. And I was glad. And there were times when I thought I was talking to . . . a child . . . a girl . . .and she was . . . telling me to come back. Then I heard someone calling, and I knew I had to come. I knew there wouldn't be another chance. So I followed the voice that was calling me back and found myself on the side of the hill. This hill." He gestured beyond the garden.

"The Widow's plea," said Julia with a slight shiver. "It's ancient, and I felt its power while I was saying it. I felt as if someone else was speaking through me."

"Yes," said Kingsley. "Old Magic. We forget about it, but we shouldn't. Because we don't understand it and can't control it we either ignore it or try to destroy it. We interfere with it at our peril. Is that not right Isaac?"

Isaac looked slightly sheepish.

Julia carried the tea in and exchanged a brief glance with Sirius. Without asking, she understood that he did not feel any inclination to mention Robin and Mab, or the shadowy threat they had yet to deal with.

"Sirius. And Julia." Now Kingsley was sombre. "There is much you need to know."

"We know Albus Dumbledore is dead," said Julia. She put the tea tray down and picked up the Hogwarts prospectus she had read so many times. She passed it to Kingsley and leaned on the back of the sofa behind Sirius. "This is as much as we know."

Kingsley looked at it briefly. He seemed uncharacteristically hesitant. "I should tell you about Regulus, first," he said.

"Regulus?" said Julia.

"My kid brother," said Sirius. "He died."

"Oh Sirius, I'm so sorry! I didn't know. You never talked about him."

He looked round at her. "We didn't talk about anything much, did we? Talking would have taken time and we knew we probably didn't have much of that. We had other more interesting things to do." He gave a lewd grin.

"Ahem!" said Isaac.

Julia gave him a stern look. "This is all your fault," she said.

"Quite so," said Kingsley in agreement. "It's something you should know. Regulus was not killed directly by Voldemort because he had decided to change his allegiance. He had discovered something of Voldemort's plan and died in an attempt to thwart it. He was quite the hero in fact, though no one knew until very much later. His is quite a long story, perhaps now is not the time to tell it all."

"Bloody hell," said Sirius. "I wish . . . I wish I'd known. Wish I'd talked to him."

Absent-mindedly, Julia took his hand and rubbed the back of it with her thumb.

"And Severus. Snape."

"Snivellus!" the corner of Sirius's lip curled. "What about him?"

"He was not the villain you believed him to be. He had spent seventeen years pretending to be one of Voldemort's acolytes while working to keep Harry safe. He was always in love with Lily, you see."

"No." whispered Sirius. "No! Where is he now?"

"Voldemort dispensed with his services when he had no further use for him. Permanently"

Sirius shook his head.

"We lost Alastor Moody.

"Ah, damn!"

"And Fred Weasley."

"Oh no!" cried Julia, "oh poor Molly and Arthur!"

Now Kingsley looked very uncomfortable. He fidgeted with his tie.

"What is it, Kingsley?" she said. "There's something you haven't told us, isn't there?"

"Not . . . not _Harry?_" said Sirius, tensing.

"No, no. Not Harry," said Kingsley. "Harry's absolutely fine. I'm sorry, there's no way to soften this. Remus."

"Remus! No!" Sirius groaned.

"And Tonks."

"Merlin!" the word was a cry of pain. Julia wrapped her arms around his chest and pulled him close against her. She was weeping now, too, for those friends who had been all that remained of the good part of his life. She could feel every muscle in his back and shoulders stretch and tighten as he fought for control. She was afraid for him. He gripped her hand so tightly it hurt.

Kingsley waited, patient, sipping at his tea, until Sirius had pulled himself together and let go of Julia's hand, wiping at his eyes. She eased her grip and flexed her fingers.

"They had a child."

"A child? _Remus and Tonks_?" Sirius looked at Julia. She shrugged, finding herself less surprised than Sirius was.

"They were married a year after the battle in the Department of Mysteries."

"Bloody hell . . . a child!"

"A boy, Edward - Teddy, after Tonks' father. He's ten now. He lives with his grandmother; your cousin Andromeda."

"He'll be - Merlin, he'll be - what?" Sirius turned to Julia. "Help me out here."

"If Tonks was your second cousin, he'll be your second cousin once removed," she said. Sirius looked at her with respect. "He'll be Megan's third cousin," she added.

"I want to meet him," said Sirius.

"Of course you do," said Kingsley, "and you will meet him. You'll want to see Harry again too, and the others. But give yourselves some time. I think there is someone rather more important you need to get to know first, is there not? I will leave you now. You will be able to make contact with me if you wish, but Isaac should be able to fill in any other details."

Isaac handed Julia the heavy book he was holding. "It's all in here," he said.

She read the title. _'A Complete History of the First and Second Wizarding Wars by Percival Weasley, with a foreword by Hermione Granger, O.M. Original illustrations by Romilda Vane. Photographs by kind permission of the family of Colin Creevey.'_ A picture of Albus Dumbledore twinkled out from the cover.

Kingsley left by the front door, but when Julia looked down the path there was no sign of him.

Isaac stood in front of her. He took one of her hands and pressed it to his lips."This is the most amazing story," he said. "Never in my lifetime did I expect to see such events unfold. I feel a book coming on. I will change the names of course. Can I come and see you tomorrow? I owe you an explanation."

"You certainly do," she said. "Come over in the morning."

When he had gone, she went back to Sirius. He stood with his arms crossed, his hands on his shoulders, looking out of the living room window towards Lay Hill. His eyes were shadowed, unreadable, his lips pressed tight together. She remembered this expression and ached for him.

"I have to go out for a while, Julia. You understand don't you?"

She turned him to face her and brushed an errant lock of grey hair away from his face.

"Of course I do," she said. "You will . . . come back?"

"Where else would I go?" He gave her a rueful smile. "You are my home, Julia. Wherever you are. Of course I'll be back." He bent and kissed her.

They went to the back door. Albie was already there, waiting.

"Promise me you'll keep away from the sheep, both of you!" Julia opened the door; watched the two great black dogs race away up the side of the hill. There was nothing she could do for Sirius now. He had to find his own way through this maze of knowledge and grief. Kisses and soft touches and gentle words were no use to him at the moment. But she no longer sensed in him the sharp, fragile instability that had frightened her sometimes during their precious short time in the house at Grimmauld Place. Twelve years of darkness, where time, if it existed at all, could move in all directions, had somehow repaired the internal strength that had been ripped away from him all those years before. There was balance now. Not the precarious balancing on the knife-edge of sanity she remembered, but the balance of light and dark; of body and soul.

Later on, she went to bed alone and lay in the peaceful darkness, waiting. Deep in the night, she heard - or thought she did - a deep and mournful howling from some distance away. And not so very much later felt Sirius's cold body sliding into bed beside her, moving into the shelter of her arms as she pulled him close, offering him the comfort of her body.

.

* * *

Next morning, as promised, Isaac came to see them.

"Come through," she said. "Help yourself to a mince pie."

Sirius was standing by the window, with his arms folded, leaning back on the sill. Isaac handed something to him.

Sirius looked at it, bemused. "A jar of gherkins? What in the name of Merlin-!"

Julia giggled. "I think you have to open it."

"Open it?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "Open it."

He looked at her, puzzled, and effortlessly twisted the top off with a slight pop.

"Jolly good," said Isaac. "You've passed the most vital test." He made himself comfortable in an armchair by the fire and selected a mince pie.

"Test?" said Sirius

"Julia's test of suitability for a partner. You passed."

Sirius grinned and handed the jar to Julia.

"I knew your uncle Alphard, you know," said Isaac conversationally. "He spent a lot of time in this cottage. You look rather like him.

"Uncle Alphard! This was his house?"

"One of them, yes. He didn't leave you everything, you know. Thought you probably had more than enough to be going on with. He left this one entailed in case of – emergencies - at Dumbledore's discretion. And," he added, "I thought you might like to hear the latest bit of village gossip."

"Oh," said Julia, "what's happened now? Young Jack Hargreaves done his first bank robbery?"

"Nothing like that," said Isaac. "But rumour has it that Simple John has begun to make a remarkable recovery. They're saying it's a medical miracle."

He looked at Sirius. So did Julia. Sirius looked back at them, his grey eyes clear and guileless.

Julia listened, unobtrusive in the background, as Isaac and Sirius talked for a time of old acquaintances she knew nothing of. At last, she quietly removed herself and took Albie for a walk.

.

In the evening, after they had eaten, she led Sirius into the sitting room. "I don't know if I should even show these to you," she said, "but I think you'll want to see them. You'll probably want this too." She handed him two photograph albums and a packet of tissues.

He looked at the tissues with an expression of faint despair. "Please Julia, don't tell me I'm going to cry again. This is getting ridiculous."

"No it's not," she said. "You're getting in touch with your feminine side."

"I'm _what?_" he sounded appalled.

"Start with this one," she said opening it to the first page.

Megan; tiny, wrinkled and red like an overripe tomato. Megan asleep in her cot. Megan, puce and bawling with rage. Megan taking her first steps; learning to ride a bicycle; blowing out the candles on a birthday cake; proud in her new uniform on the first day of school. Megan, who looked out from the pictures with clear grey eyes that saw things a little differently to the way most people did.

Sirius was silent, turning the pages slowly, looking at the photographs with an intensity and longing that made Julia hurt for him. She stroked his back in gentle circles as he wept for all those lost years.

.


	12. Coming Home

**Chapter Twelve: Coming Home.**

.

Next morning, well before daylight began to break, they were up and dressed, bundled in layers against the winter cold.

"You don't have to come with me you know," said Sirius. "This is my task really."

"What if something goes wrong?" Julia said. "Look what happened last time I let you go off and do something like this on your own! And besides, I bear some responsibility for this too. Don't you want me with you?"

They stood looking at each other. Sirius took her hands and lifted them to his lips. "This thing we have now," he said. "This second chance. It's precious. It's not to be taken lightly. I won't throw it away."

.

Julia unhooked the torch.

"What's that for?" asked Sirius.

"It's dark," she said, "there's no way we can walk up the hill in the dark."

He tutted impatiently. "You're forgetting something aren't you?" he said. "I'm a wizard, Julia. I might not be much use, but I can do this." He flicked his wand and a friendly ball of light bounced along the ground in front of them. There had been a frost, and ice was crusted at the edges of the depressions in the mud. It crunched underfoot as they walked.

They climbed up the side of the hill and skirted to the eastern side where the huge stones lay. There, under the great oak tree, with Albie patient at their feet and their arms wrapped around each other, they waited for sunrise.

.

When the first beams of wintry sunlight touched the great stones that lay fallen in the thorny undergrowth, the blocks were no longer lying on the ground, but were once again a strong stone doorway leading into deep darkness. As the light entered the passage it appeared at first as if it was being sucked into the void beyond, and for a moment Julia was confused. Then she realised that it was not the light that was being drawn into the hill, but the darkness that was oozing out, tainting the dawn.

The morning began to dim and a sense of cold and dread began to envelop her. Albie whined in fear and cowered on the ground. Sirius touched his head, murmuring beneath his breath, and the dog quieted, but still he was terrified.

Above the level of hearing, a noiseless scream was building. It was the icy howling silence of fear, and Julia had felt it before. _"Dementors!_ Christ, no! Sirius!" She spun to stare at him, her hand tight on his arm. Afraid for him, until she saw his face.

He was magnificent. Fierce, martial and completely focused. His eyes gleamed like polished steel and he gave a terrible smile of complete confidence.

Julia could not believe he was laughing as he raised his wand towards the encroaching shadows. "You think to follow me? _No!_ You are not for this world, go back to the endless night where you belong! _Expecto Patronum!"_

She could not really see Sirius's patronus, but a shaft of silver sliced into the looming spectres and the gaping cavity beyond. Before they had any more opportunity to suck the light and promise from the day, the ghastly things were swallowed back into the opening; into the hill.

Sirius lifted his wand again. "_Reparo!" _There was a faint indefinable shift in the air, and an almost-movement beyond the stones; a sense of order and balance returning. _"Colloportus!"_ Another shift and the hillside was back as it was before, the stones lying in the scrub as they always had with not a sign of the dark mouth of the barrow.

Julia drew a deep breath, and looked at Sirius with undisguised admiration. Delighted, she said, "Sirius, sweetheart, you made a Patronus!"

Casually, he blew across the tip of his wand, gave it a theatrical twirl and jammed it into the waistband of his jeans as if putting it in a holster. "Sure did," he grinned.

"Did you know you'd be able to?"

He put his arm around her shoulders and she moved closer. "Do you know," he said, "there was never a moment's doubt in my mind that I could."

She took his hand and kissed his hard palm. "My hero."

.

Unexpectedly there was a voice above. Startled, they looked up to see Robin and Mab standing near the stones. "So, my friends, the door is safely closed, the curtain drawn. The shadows are returned into the night. Mayhap we shall meet again in this century or the next, or the one after. Blessings be." Mab made a broadcasting motion towards them.

If sunlight could have taken the form of fine snowflakes, Julia thought, that is what settled momentarily upon herself and Sirius and the great black dog with them. Then, without warning, it, and the fairies, were gone.

Sirius and Julia looked at each other. She was filled with a joy so complete it was almost unbearable. She thought he felt it too. The harsh lines on his face had eased and he was laughing. Albie's tail was wagging so violently she thought he might do himself an injury. The sound of church bells drifted over the fields from the village below .

"It's Sunday," she said. "I'd forgotten. Look, it's starting to snow! It's time for breakfast, and we've got a Christmas tree to decorate."

.

A couple of hours later, warm and replete with tea, and bacon and eggs, they heard the low rumbling sound of an old British motorbike from the lane outside. Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Is that Rick? It sounds like the A10."

"I expect so," said Julia. "Let's go and see." They went outside. Rick rode into Julia's drive and Doreen pulled up behind him in a battered little car. Rick pulled off his helmet and jacket and put them on the bike seat. He shook Sirius's hand.

"Good to see you again, man, you're lookin' a lot better than the last time."

Julia waved to Doreen. "Are you coming in for a drink?"

"Nah man, gotta get off. Last minute Christmas shoppin' an' such, ya know." He gave Doreen a look of faint disgust.

"Come over on Boxing Day," said Julia, "we're having a bit of a party."

"Will do." Rick looked at Sirius. "Julia's parties are legendary round here."

Doreen pipped her horn beckoning him to hurry. Rick climbed into the passenger seat and wound his window down.

"I dunna think they know it all," he said. "They scientists. You make 'er fly!"

The little car reversed out on to the lane.

"What?" said Sirius. "I don't understand."

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," said Julia. "The jacket and helmet are just on loan. I hope you've got a licence."

"Don't need one," he said vaguely. "Julia?"

"Don't you like your present then?" she said.

"_Like it?_ You bought it? For_ me?"_

"Well, it's not for me, is it? I don't know one end from the other. I'm cold and I'm going indoors. I take it you'll stay out here for a bit?"

Julia spent a happy afternoon decorating the Christmas tree and didn't see Sirius again until darkness had fallen. When he finally came indoors, she thought he looked rather pleased with himself.

.

After they had eaten, he took her hand and pulled her up. "Leave the dishes," he said, "I'll do them later. Wrap up warm. Very warm. We're going out."

"Out?"

"For a ride. Come on, don't dawdle!"

.

The polished tank flashed gold in the light from the cottage window. Sirius kicked the engine over and it thundered into life.

"Do you need to do that?" she shouted over the noise.

"What?"

"Kick it up? Can't you do it with magic?"

"I could!" he shouted back, "but it wouldn't be the same!" He seated himself and jerked his head back. "Get on!"

She climbed behind him groping at the back of the seat for something to hold on to.

"Hold on to me," he said

"I'll throw you off balance!" she protested.

"No you won't. Put your arms round me."

.

The bike pulled out on to the lane, and then the cold breeze shifted in a shiver of magic and Julia squealed; first in terror, and then delight.

.

Far below, the cottage and the village were like toys scattered on a carpet. The road and the river twisted in pale ribbons between the dark patchwork of fields. Above them, the pale night sky, intersected by the faint lines of vapour trails, stretched away forever.

.

* * *

.

Julia rose early again next morning to bake a chocolate cake ready for Megan's return.

Sirius sniffed the air appreciatively. "I've made something for Megan too. Do you think she'll like it?" He handed her a little carving.

"Sirius, oh! It's quite beautiful! Did you use magic?"

He shook his head. "No magic. That would be cheating."

"Yes it would," she said, "but - a frog! Why a frog? Do you know you couldn't have chosen anything more perfect?"

"Really?" He raised his eyebrows. " Why is that?"

Julia paused and looked past him, thinking. "You should know. Megan. She's always been a bit . . . different. In the way she sees things. Sometimes people don't understand her." She paused and put her finger on his lips, looking into his eyes. "She's got your eyes. Magic ones." He kissed her fingertip.

"About a hundred yards along the lane here," she gestured, "near the bend, there's a shallow pit just behind the hedge. It holds water until about June, then it usually dries up in the summer. You can walk over to it from our garden. When Megan was about eight, one spring. It must have been a weekend or in the school holidays, I forget. Anyway, I was gardening and left her to her own devices. She's always been very self-contained you see. I was outside for hours. When I came in and went upstairs to get changed. I found she had filled – I'm not joking – filled the bath with bloody tadpoles. Not just tadpoles really; they were all in the process of turning into frogs and a lot of them already had. I was furious."

Julia laughed, remembering. "Honestly, Sirius, you should have seen it! There were tiny frogs jumping about everywhere and there was muddy water and blanket weed all over the place! When I asked why she'd done it, she said she had to. She told me that if she hadn't moved them, they'd all have been killed. Well, obviously I thought she'd been watching too much 'Watership Down' or something. I wasn't at all happy and made her take them all downstairs and put them in a tub in the garden. While she was doing that, we heard the most almighty crash in the lane, and just a few minutes later there was an explosion. A boy racer had taken the bend too fast and swerved to avoid a tractor. He crashed his car right through the hedge and ended up in the pit. The engine caught fire and the driver only just got out before the petrol tank exploded. It took the fire brigade hours to put it out. They even made us evacuate. It made a terrible mess. Even now, nothing much grows there."

"So what did you say to her afterwards?" Sirius asked.

"Hm? Well, nothing really. We both knew she'd been right, but she should still have asked first. But since then I always pay attention to her Feelings. They're never wrong."

"Never?"

"Never," she confirmed. "She is very special you know, Megan. Really. It's not just maternal partiality." Julia stroked the little wooden frog. "It's wonderfully realistic. Did you model it from a real one?"

"I asked Albie to find me one."

"Please," she said. "_Please_ tell me you didn't do that at the kitchen table."

"Do you think -" he seemed unusually diffident. "Do you think she'll like me, Julia?"

Julia had to laugh. She stroked the untidy lock of hair back from his forehead. "I guarantee that she will," she said. "I'm absolutely certain of it."

.

Julia made some sandwiches and packed them to eat on the way. "You could apparate, you know," she said as she wrapped them. "If you don't want to go on the train. It's a long journey."

"Will you come with me if I do?" Sirius sniggered at her look of horror. "Perhaps not. I'm pretty out of practice. I don't want to leave bits of you behind. Unless it was your tongue perhaps."

She pinched him. "Think about it," she said. "Would you really want me not to have my tongue?"

His eyes darkened. "Mm, perhaps not. Have we got time . . . ?" He nuzzled her neck.

"No we haven't, sadly," she gave him a swift kiss. "Come on."

Julia drove to the nearest railway station, then they took the London train. It was a slow one that stopped at almost every other little station on the way, so the journey was long and the carriage was stuffy. They sat on opposite sides of a table by the window and held hands, absorbed in each other. They must, she supposed, have looked like a pair of middle-aged lovers. As indeed they were.

At a small station somewhere south of Birmingham, an aggressive looking youth with a spider's web tattooed on his neck boarded the train and took a seat beside them. After watching them scornfully for a while, he swore audibly. Julia felt herself colouring and Sirius looked annoyed.

_Milf?_ mouthed Sirius. Julia shook her head at him, but when the youth left his seat, he asked again, and would not let the matter rest until she told him.

_"Mother I'd like to fuck?"_ he hissed in furious disbelief. His eyes were narrowed and cold.

"Leave it, Sirius, please."

The young man with the spider's-web tattoo returned to his seat carrying a sandwich which he proceeded to unwrap on the table. But Julia jumped in alarm when he let out a high, girlish scream and scrambled rapidly into the aisle. She looked down to see a fat snail gliding over his sandwich wrapper towards the table. She grimaced in revulsion and looked suspiciously at Sirius. He was oblivious, looking out of the window and intent on the passing landscape.

The youth's shout had attracted the attention of a uniformed attendant who hurried along the carriage to investigate. The young man thrust the sandwich wrapper at him. "'Ere! It's disgustin'! Snails in the butties! I'll sue you!"

But athough they thoroughly investigated the wrapper, table, seats and floor, there was no snail to be found. Perhaps, if they had looked very closely they might have found the trace of a slime trail here and there, but they did

"It was them!" The aggressive youth pointed at Sirius and Julia with a trembling finger. Sirius looked bemused and Julia exchanged a look of sympathy with the unfortunate attendant, who ushered the young man to the other end of the carriage, still volubly protesting.

.

From Euston, they took the underground to King's Cross. Sirius was fascinated by the crowds and the posters that lined the walls of the steep escalators.

"It's a lot busier nowadays," he said. "I wouldn't want to live here again."

They navigated Kings Cross station hand in hand, heading for platforms nine and ten. In the air above them, announcements rattled, unintelligibly echoing around the arches.

"Last time I was here," said Sirius, "I was Padfoot, seeing Harry off to Hogwarts."

They arrived at the wide brick pillar wall between the platforms. "We'll have to wait here," said Julia.

"Why?"

"Well, I can't get on to the platform, obviously."

"Don't be an idiot, Julia," he said. "You're with me or had you forgotten? Hold my hand and just walk with me. Shut your eyes if you like."

She did.

* * *

The old fashioned steam engine gently hissed at the platform as the students noisily disembarked. At the far end of the train, a huge man with dark bushy hair and beard, who must have been eight feet tall at least, rested his black eyes on Sirius for a moment, then his gaze moved on.

"There she is! _Megan!_" Julia shouted, waving.

Megan was carrying a present wrapped in sparkly pink paper and adorned with an alarming number of bows and decorations. She looked back and waved energetically at a pretty blonde girl.

"That's Sarah," she said. "She's my best friend. Can she come and stay?"

She looked beyond her mother and stilled. Sirius was looking at her, his face wet with tears. He sank to his knees oblivious to any curious looks that might have fallen on him with, perhaps, a fleeting trace of recognition. Or fear.

Megan handed the sparkly parcel to her mother and walked towards him. "Dad," she whispered. "I knew you'd come back to us." She wiped his cheek with her hand and smiled at him, with a smile so very like his own. "You don't need to cry, you know. Everything's all right now." Unable to speak, he hugged her tight, and buried his face in her long, dark hair. She put her arms around him. "You're going to be a great dad," she said happily. "It doesn't matter if you don't know what to do, I can help you."

After some moments, Sirius got to his feet. His movement was as graceful as ever, but his knees cracked painfully, and he rubbed them. He pulled Megan and Julia into his arms, dropping a kiss on each head.

"Come on then, girls," he said. "It's time to take me home."

.

.

**Finished**

.

.

* * *

**_A/N, If you have enjoyed this story and you haven't read 'Dark Birthright', 'Secret Life of a Black Dog' and 'Talking to Dad', you might enjoy those too. 'Harry Potter and the Eversion of Magic' is a sequel of sorts._**

**_As always, comments welcome!_**


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